


Fan the Flames

by Anonymous



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family Secrets, Fluff, Found Family, Gaang (Avatar) as Family, Hate Sex, Horny Teenagers, Iroh (Avatar) is a Good Uncle, Making Out, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Smut, Teen Romance, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, no beta we die like jet, they fuck first and then theres loove
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:54:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 15
Words: 43,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24930376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Y/N Y/L/N has very little going for her. Orphaned, non-bending, and virtually trapped on Kyoshi Island, she longs for a life of purpose and adventure. But when she’s swept up with the likes of Team Avatar, she finds herself on the journey she’s been dreaming of.Along the way she discovers herself, her parentage, and (with the help of a banished prince) love.
Relationships: Zuko (Avatar)/Reader
Comments: 166
Kudos: 719
Collections: Anonymous





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first fic for atla, so I'm sorry if I get anything horribly wrong. I'm planning for this fic to branch over the whole show, and I've got the entire plot mapped out. All I have to do is finish writing it!
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy!
> 
> (Also, I’m tagging it as underage just to be safe, but know that both Zuko and reader are the same age)
> 
> ~L

_There is grace in hiding, lurking in the shadows as you carefully measure your opponent and their weaknesses._

_The Kyoshi warriors know this better than most, hiding in alleyways and rooftops as they keep the village safe (both from outsiders and their own people). Knocking sexist men down a peg or two as well as rooting out fire nation spys._

_But today, there is a different threat._

_A battered old fishing boat, listing slightly to the right as it closes in on the outskirts of Kyoshi Island. Navy sails tattered and blackened with a thick layer of soot. The hull singed and warped beyond recognition, wooden slats pitch black and burnt far past repair. It crashes to shore and practically collapses into kindling, smoke curling in the air as someone stumbles out of the wreckage. Dead on their feet as they lurch towards the treeline._

_The warriors of Kyoshi watch as the man calls out for help, eyes narrowing in suspicion as he unknowingly approaches their treetop hideout. Red painted eyes immediately softening as they notice the bundle cradled in his arms._

_And so, suspicions culled, they descend from the trees. Light on their feet as they carefully approach the ragged man._

_“Please,” he begs, watery blue eyes fixing on each warrior in turn, “sanctuary!” He falls to his knees and curls in on himself, holding up the fur lined bundle in a desperate plea. Foolishly, a soft-hearted warrior steps closer, gingerly pulling back the fabric and revealing the treasure cradled within. Quiet gasps sounding through the crowd as she drops her hand in disbelief._

_It’s a little girl. A sleeping infant with the lightest dusting of soot across her nose. A well-loved necklace clutched between her pudgy fingers, the yin-yang charm gleaming softly atop the furs. Polished moonstone and tumbled obsidian circled around one another in a tight embrace._

_“My daughter...please, protect her…” the man pleads, arms shaking as he struggles to hold her steady, “or the fire nation will kill her too...” Hesitantly, with the man's frantic insistence, someone gathers the girl in their arms. Wary of their sharp-cut leather gauntlets as they hold the babe close to their chest._

_“Who are you?” they question, staring down at the man as he shakes at their feet._

_“Her name is Y/N Y/L/N, after her late mother,” he insists, ignoring the question as his voice grows weaker, “I’ll see you soon, my love,” And with that, he crumples forward and falls to the ground. Refusing to rouse even when a knife is pressed--gently--to his throat._

_“Get a healer!” someone orders, driving everyone into action, “go, go!”_

_The warriors erupt into a flurry of motion, picking up the mystery man and rushing him to the village as fast as they can. Waking the healer and bustling about as they search for some way to help._

_The man dies that night._

_And the orphaned Y/N Y/L/N is adopted into the Kyoshi warriors._

_* * * *_

**Many Years Later**

Spirits, are you bored.

You fall to the ground with a groan, leaning back against a barren tree trunk as you look out over the horizon. Crossing your legs and resting your elbows on your knees. You can see the entire shoreline from your high up perch, light glancing off the glistening waves like firelight over abalone. Bright, mesmerizing, and familiar. If you close your eyes and focus, you can almost remember when you first arrived on the island. Swaddled in furs with a necklace clutched in your little fist.

Practically on instinct, you reach up and thumb the charm of your necklace. The smooth stone warmed from your skin and nestled comfortably beneath the silk of your kimono. The habitual motion is calming, and soon enough you forget your burning troubles. Washed away like footprints in the sand.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

 _And_ your troubles are back.

“I already told you, leave me alone,” you huff, glancing away as your best friend and confidant, Suki, sits down beside you, “and how’d you know where I was?”

“You always hide here,” she smirks, “you’re predictable.”

“Am not!” you protest, grateful for the childish banter.

“Are to,” she echoes, smile slipping from her face, “listen, I just want to talk.”

“What else is there to talk about?” you grumble, an edge of contempt creeping into your tone, “you heard what Oyaji said, I’m not allowed to leave.”

“He didn’t say that,” she sighs.

“He may as well have,” you argue, “face it, as long as the fire nation is trying to take over the world, I’m stuck here. So Kyoshi Island is gonna be my home for the next one hundred years.”

“Hey, I hate it as much as you do,” she points out, squeezing your arm in solidarity, “we both want to help in the war. But unless something big happens, we’re staying put.”

“Yeah, like _anything_ ever happens here,” you scoff, bumping her shoulder playfully, “my fans are dying for some action, not just stoking the fire pit.”

“I don’t remember the last time my katana’s seen the light of day,” she jokes in turn, shifting to face the horizon and balking at what she sees, “Y/N, look!”

“Very funny, Suki. There’s nothing--spirits above! _”_ you jump to your feet, staring wide-eyed as schools of elephant koi breach from the glittering waters of the bay. Scales shimmering in the sunlight as they dive in and out of the gentle waves. Squinting, you watch as a tiny speck of a person balances atop the leaping fish. Two others standing on the shore as the smaller one frolics in the waves, “who would be stupid enough to swim with the unagi?”

“Outsiders,” Suki says darkly, rising to her feet and watching the frilled fin of the unagi peek out from the waters, “let’s see who gets to them first.” Invigored, you take to the trees, leaping from branch to branch as you make your way down to the shore. The other warriors joining in formation as you sneak up on the now reunited trio. 

It’s a strange group, that’s for sure. A water tribe boy with a warrior’s wolf tail, a similarly dressed girl with strands of hair looped around her ears, and a bald, tattooed kid wearing a loose fitting orange shawl. If that’s not weird enough, a chittering winged lemur winds around their ankles like a cat. And a hulking, six-legged monster lows as they rub their furry head against a tree trunk.

_Spies._

Without a moment to lose, you leap down from the branches and surround the strange group. Weapons held at the ready as you quickly and easily overpower the trio, leaving them trussed up and helpless in mere seconds (even the lemur is tossed into a bag). And despite the kicking, flailing, and overall resistance; you manage to drag them into town. Tying them to a tall, wooden pole and ordering someone to fetch Oyaji, the village leader.

“Hey, watch it!” the older boy shouts, flailing about as you tighten the rope around his midriff, “you’re gonna wrinkle the leather!”

“Quiet, Sokka,” the girl hisses, obviously the smarter of the two.

“Polar leopard skin is hard to come by, Katara!” the boy--Sokka--retorts. Blindly thrashing his head from side to side as he tries to break free, “no way am I letting this guy--”

“You have more to worry about than fashion, trust me,” you threaten, giving the rope an extra tug as you finish the knot. A nervous, almost indiscernible _‘eep’_ slipping past his lips as you step away.

“She seems nice,” the youngest of the group remarks, a wide, oddly genuine smile spreading across his blindfolded face.

“She?” Sokka protests, a scowl downturning his lips, “there’s no way a _girl--”_

But before he can finish his sure-to-be sexist remark, Oyaji steps in. Saving him from a grisly death at the hands of a pissed off Y/N, “you three have some explaining to do.”

“And if you don’t answer all of our questions, we’re throwing you back in the water with unagi,” Suki tacks on, earning a gleeful smile from you. You have no patience for sexist men, and Sokka seems to fit the bill.

“Show yourselves, cowards!” Sokka goads, the three outsiders blinking in the sudden light as you rip off their blindfolds. Revealing the army of Kyoshi warriors standing right before them, “who are you? Where are the men who ambushed us?”

_This boy…_

“ _We_ ambushed you,” you correct, gesturing to your sisters in arms. Grinning wildly as you watch recognition dawn on his disbelieving face, “now, who are you, and what are you doing here?”

“Yeah right, I’m sure _you_ took us down,” he rolls his eyes, “you’re just a bunch of girls!”

“Bunch of girls, huh?” you tease, looking to Suki and smirking as she grabs him by the collar. Eagerly joining in on the ‘threaten Sokka’ bandwagon.

“The unagi’s going to eat well tonight,” she growls intimidatingly, digging her fingers into Sokka’s fur-lined lapels.

“No, don’t hurt him!” Katara pleads, once again proving to be more sensible than the other, “he didn’t mean it. My brother’s just an idiot sometimes.”

“You got that right,” you mumble, crossing your arms over your chest as Sokka seethes. The two of you glaring at one another as Suki releases her grip on his jacket.

“It’s my fault,” the younger boy says earnestly, “I’m sorry we came here. I wanted to ride the elephant koi”

“How do we know you’re not fire nation spies?” Oyaji says suspiciously, “Kyoshi has stayed out of the war so far--” you and Suki share a meaningful look “--and we intend to keep it that way.”

The boy perks up, smiling once again as he says, “this island is named for Kyoshi? I know Kyoshi!”

Out of all the lies you’ve been told, this one certainly takes the cake.

And it seems that the others feel the same, considering the disbelieving looks they send one another as the boy looks on obliviously.

“Ha!” Oyaji laughs, saying what you’ve all been thinking, “how could you possibly know her? Avatar Kyoshi was born here four hundred years ago, she’s been dead for centuries.” You glance up to the top of the pole, smiling slightly as you take in the regal statue of Kyoshi. The vibrant paint is chipped and faded, but her power and grace still shines through the old wood.

“I know her because I’m the Avatar,” the boy confesses, tone somber as he looks at you all imploringly.

Nevermind, _this_ lie took the cake.

“That’s impossible,” you scoff, “the last Avatar was an airbender, and they disappeared a hundred years ago.”

“That’s me!” he grins.

“Throw the imposter to the unagi!” Oyaji orders, all of you obediently whipping out your fans and advancing on the tied up trio. Reaching out to grab the fibbing boy when suddenly, the impossible happens.

A violent gust of wind picks up around you, the breeze far too strong to be natural. The silk of your kimono whipping about as the tattooed kid leaps off the ground and _soars_ through the air. Tearing free from the ropes as he easily clears the towering wooden pole, landing on the ground and kicking up a wave of dirt as the crowd _oohs_ and _aahs_.

“Holy Shu,” you marvel, taking a step back in shock, “you _are_ the Avatar.”

The kid grins and bounds towards you, balancing on his toes and pulling three marbles from his sleeve, “now watch _this!”_ He cups his hands and wiggles his fingers as the marbles spin around like a polar dog chasing its tail. Head whipping about as he searches for validation.

And boy, does he get it.

The village erupts into cheers, hope rekindled as a living legend stands before them (a bit younger than expected, but that’s okay). You even spot Suki’s ex foaming at the mouth and collapsing to the ground in a dead faint. 

The other warriors quickly untie the Avatar’s friends, apologizing fervently as the two siblings jog up to meet the boasting Avatar. Their winged companion squirming out of the bag and landing on the boy’s shoulder with a series of indignant chirps. Pawing at the marbles as they spin in the Avatar’s palm.

Oyaji sweeps into a low bow, demeanor completely changed as he addresses the ragtag group of kids, “If you’d like, you three could spend the night in my home. It’d be an honor to host the Avatar and his friends.”

“Oh no, we shouldn’t--” Katara begins, immediately cut off by the two boy’s polar pup eyes, “well...I suppose we’ve been travelling long enough. But only for a little while!”

_Travelling?_

And like a glowfly lighting up a swamp, an idea ignites in your head. A plan for you to finally leave the place you’ve called home your entire life.

You were going to join the Avatar.

* * * *

Morning can’t arrive soon enough, and the second dawn breaks across the sky, you’re sprinting up the stairs to the Avatar’s room. Bursting through the doors and awkwardly sidestepping one of the servants as they serve the group breakfast.

“You!” Sokka shouts from the corner he’s sulking in, leaping to his feet and pointing at you accusingly, “what are you doing here?”

Without missing a beat, you sweep into a low, apologetic bow, “I came to apologize for yesterday. I didn’t realize you were with the Avatar, I thought you were fire nation.”

“Now that’s just insulting!” he laments, slumping down to the floor and scowling at the ground. Snatching a handful of sweets from the center table before returning to his brooding.

“Don’t mind him,” Katara says kindly, waving off her brother’s reproachful glare as she invites you to sit across from her, “I’m Katara, the one sulking in the corner is Sokka, and this is Aang.” The bald kid--Aang--sends you a cheerful wave, popping an egg custard tart into his mouth and following it with an absurd amount of sweet buns.

You sit down and offer them all a smile, “Y/N Y/L/N. Pleasure to meet you, uh, again.”

Aang returns the greeting and swallows the mouthful of food, sugar smeared across his cheek as he not-so subtly sneaks his lemur a snack, “ _soo_ , I was wondering, what’s with the facepaint?”

“ _Aang,_ ” Katara admonishes in a whisper, kicking him from beneath the table, “that’s impolite.”

“It’s fine,” you reassure, gingerly biting into a pumpkin pancake. Careful not to ruin your immaculately painted makeup, “it’s meant to intimidate opponents, and it imitates Kyoshi’s own style of dress.” You gesture to your whole outfit, “the uniform is pretty strict, but you’re allowed to get away with some things. Like this,” you reach beneath the silk of your kimono and hold up your necklace for them all to see.

“Coool,” Aang whistles, admiring the shining charm.

“Hey, that’s water tribe!” Katara realizes, leaning forward and eyeing your necklace, “where’d you get it?”

And just like that, the mood is soured. Your expression downcast as you sadly tuck the necklace away, “it was my father’s, or at least, I think it was. He and my mother died when I was just a baby.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Katara says empathetically, reaching up to clasp her own necklace, “Sokka and I lost our mother too, in a fire nation raid. This necklace is all I have left of her.”

“Well, we have that in common,” you smile tightly, clasping your hands in your lap and boring your gaze into the table, “the fire nation killed my parents as well." Seconds tick by in uncomfortable, yet companionable, silence. All four of you mulling over past loss, quiet in your solidarity, “on a happier note, what’s it like to travel the world? I haven’t stepped off this island since my father brought me here, and surely you’ve all seen some amazing sights.”

“Ah, the thing is,” Katara sighs, “Sokka and I have only just left the South Pole, and Aang’s been frozen for the past hundred years.”

“So unless you want to hear about ice, snow, and more ice. We’re not the ones to ask about worldly travels,” Sokka jokes, earning a small laugh from you.

“We saw some really awesome clouds on the way over, though!” Aang says reassuringly, “one of them looked exactly like Appa!”

“Appa?” you question.

“He’s my flying bison!” Aang answers, further elaborating as he notices your quizzical look, “six legs, arrow on his head, two horns…”

“Ooh, him,” you nod sagely, pointing to the lemur stuffing his face at the end of the table, “and who’s that?”

“That’s Momo!” Aang responds, holding out his hand and laughing as Momo jumps onto his arm and balances on his head. Offering the creature a plump wagashi despite Katara’s objections. 

Watching him like this, it’s hard for you to make the connection that _he_ is the Avatar. Master of the elements, protector of the world; twelve year old boy who has a pet lemur and eats sweets. It’s almost... _sad_ , in a way. Knowing his destiny and just what lies in store for him.

But you put on a smile and laugh as Momo launches off his forehead, sending him sprawling on his back before he rights himself with a quick gust of air.

“Hey, if you want to travel, why don’t you come with us?” Aang eagerly offers, “we’re going to the Northern Water Tribe, and there’ll be lots of things to see along the way!”

“Are you sure?” you ask, trying to quell the bloom of hope in your chest, “I don’t mean to interfere...”

Katara thinks for a moment, ignoring her brother’s frantic ‘no’ as she thoughtfully strokes her chin, “it’d be nice to have another girl in the group...Oh, what’s the harm, I say she’s in!”

“Sokka?” Aang asks, blissfully unaware of his friend’s current dilemma, “what do you say, should Y/N come with us?” 

The boy in question lifts a finger as if to say something, but eventually slouches forwards and sighs in defeat, “alright.”

You resist the urge to do a victory dance, rising to your feet and bowing deeply to your new companions, “you won’t regret this, I promise.” You straighten back up and glance out the window, freezing in place as you notice the sun’s position in the sky, “monkey feathers, I’m late!”

“Late for what?” Aang questions, watching on as you hike up your kimono and prepare to run out the door.

“Training lessons!” you call back over your shoulder, a wicked idea lancing through you like a harpoon, “Sokka, you’re free to join.”

He lets out a lengthy, exasperated sigh, “ _fine,_ I’ll crash your little _dance lesson.”_

An evil smile pulls at your lips.

“See you there.”

* * * *

This is the most entertaining thing you’ve seen in _weeks_.

“Now, stand right there,” Sokka instructs you, a cocky smirk upturning his lips as he positions you in front of him. Taking a few steps back and assuming an offensive position, putting a bit too much weight on his back foot as he circles his fists, “this may be a little tough, but just try to block me.”

He lurches forward and aims a sloppy punch at your nose, a move which is easily blocked as you sharply jab your fan into his exposed armpit.

Injured in both body and ego, he stumbles back and rubs at his injured shoulder. Grasping at straws as he tries to rationalize his quick and pathetic defeat, “that was fine, I guess. ‘Course I was going easy on you.”

“Obviously,” Suki drawls in the background, raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow as she scrutinizes the cocksure water tribesman.

Butthurt, he launches himself forward and sweeps out his leg in a flimsy kick, “let’s see if you can handle _this!_ ”

You handle it just fine.

Smooth as butter, you duck beneath his outstretched leg and knock the other out from under him. Sending him flying across the room and landing harshly on his back, snapping out your fan and lazily waving it in front of your face.

“Argh!” he shouts, stumbling to his feet and jabbing a finger at Suki, “how ‘bout you and I have a go.”

“What, afraid you’ll lose?” you taunt, obligingly stepping out of the way and letting Suki take your place.

“No!” he protests unconvincingly, looking anywhere except at you, “there’s just plenty of Sokka to go around, yaknow?” You bite the underside of your cheek as you fight back a laugh, you and Suki sharing a look as she shifts into a ready stance, Sokka charging forward in a futile attempt to take her by surprise.

Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t a surprise.

Quick as a whip, she grabs his forearm and steadies a hand on his back, swinging him around like an elephant rat in a child’s fist. With a harsh push he pitches forward like an unbalanced iceberg, giving Suki an opening to loosen his belt and use it to bind his wrist and ankle together. The boy giving a few hopeful hops before tripping and falling flat on his face.

“Well, is there any Sokka left for the rest of us?” you say mockingly, untying the rope and waving him off as he retreats in shame. Head bowed to hide his embarrassed blush as he slinks out the door, “I think we’ve learned _plenty_ for today, how about we let out early?” The other girls file out at your suggestion, with only Suki remaining as you step up to meet her.

She looks you up and down, gleeful expression slipping away as she notices that something’s up, “what’s wrong?”

You anxiously bite your lip, “I think...I think I’m leaving with the Avatar.”

“That’s amazing!” she grins, pulling you in for a hug, “you’re finally getting out of this place!”

“Yeah…” you trail off, homesickness pooling in your gut even though you haven’t left yet, “but strangely, I think I’m gonna miss this place. And you, of course.”

“I’d hope so,” she teases, patting you on the back and pulling away. Smile softening as she affectionately squeezes your shoulder, “I’m going to miss you too.”

You blink away tears and gently wipe at your eyes, careful not to smudge your painstakingly applied eye makeup. And just like when you were kids, the two of you effortlessly slip into easy banter and lighthearted jokes. Running through new forms and old, laughing even as you mess up horribly.

So you’re a bit surprised when Sokka makes another appearance.

“Uh, hey Suki, Y/N,” he says awkwardly, shuffling from one foot to the other.

“Here for another _dance lesson?_ ” you huff, “I’m sorry, but training’s over.”

“Wait, just...hear me out,” he implores, clasping his hands together as if praying.

“What do you want?” Suki sighs exasperatedly, narrowing her eyes as she crosses her arms over her chest.

Deferentially bowing his head, he lowers himself to his knees and solemnly stares down at the ground. A humble move that completely throws you for the loop, “I would be honored if you would teach me.”

“Even if we’re girls?” Suki retorts, though you can tell that she’s softening.

“I’m sorry if I insulted you earlier,” he apologizes earnestly, “I was wrong.”

Well, this is certainly a pleasant turn of events.

“We normally don’t teach outsiders,” Suki muses, “let alone boys.”

“Please make an exception, I won’t let you down,” he vows, bending his spine and almost pressing his forehead to the floor.

“Alright,” she acquises after a moment of thought, “but you have to follow all of our traditions.”

You grin in agreement, catching on to her plan, “and we mean _all_ of them.”

“Of course,” he agrees, blissfully ignorant of what lies in store for him.

This’ll certainly be fun.

* * * *

Watching Sokka--fully outfitted in Kyoshi warrior outfit and makeup--run through basic forms with Suki is certainly an... _enlightening_ experience. It takes every last bit of your self control not to burst out laughing.

But, shockingly, he improves exponentially in the few hours he spends training. Even managing to topple Suki once or twice despite the odds. And as if that isn’t crazy enough, the two of you finally rebuild the shaky foundations of your friendship. With Sokka ultimately accepting you as a soon-to-be member of the group.

So of course, everything is fated to go wrong.

“Fire benders have landed on our shores!” Oyaji announces frantically, out of breath from sprinting around town, “girls, come quickly!”

There is no fear as you prepare for battle, no hint of anxiety as you run out the door to what very well could be your end. Only determination, and a spark of readiness that’d been laying in wait your entire life.

And now, it’s time to fan that flame.


	2. Two

It’s strangely fitting that as you go to confront the demons of your past, the sky is colored a dingy grey. The sun shining through the clouds like firelight over silty water, dark and gloomy and just the slightest bit terrifying.

Because despite your bravado, this is the _fire nation_. The boogeyman of your childhood, the faceless entity that took your parents away from you; the catalysis of your greatest fears. You can brandish a fan and paint on your makeup all you like, but it’s merely a ploy to hide the scared little girl cowering inside.

So when you finally put a face to the infamous name, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t disappointed.

Because they’re just... _men_. No sharp teeth or monstrous claws; no hulking dark brutes that literally breathe evil.

In fact, you’re pretty sure there’s a _teenager_ leading the force.

He cuts an intimidating figure, that you can’t deny. Sitting tall atop his komodo rhino, wearing shining red armor with sharp angles and golden edges. Lithe and lanky despite the additional bulk of the metal plating. Sharp cut jaw and sloping nose, with an angry scar that mars the left side of his pale face. Eyes narrowed and lips twisted into a terrifying scowl.

But still, teenager.

“Come out Avatar,” he calls, gaze sweeping over the abandoned streets of Kyoshi, “you can’t hide from me forever.” 

Predictably, no one comes out.

A fact which seems to incense him, as he barks out an order and the rest of the soldiers surge forward. Prowling through the streets in search of Aang, combing over the buildings as the villagers cower inside.

Anger sparks in your gut as you watch from above. Hunkering down on the rooftops as you and the other warriors get into position, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Whipping out your fans as you shift into a ready stance.

And with a whisper of movement, you’re off. Leaping down from above and knocking the soldiers off their mounts with an effortless kick. Blows glancing off your fans as you hook your arm around their stirrups and tug them off the saddle. The unmanned rhino rearing back and threatening you with its horn, stomping its feet as it barges towards you with an irate roar. Thinking quick, you dodge to the side and swing up onto the creature’s back. Holding on as it bucks and flails, grabbing onto the reins and pulling tight as you fight to gain control. It quiets with a huff, and with a thump of your legs and a tug of the reins, it whirls around and charges forward. Knocking soldiers aside like ragdolls as it breaks through the ranks.

In the corner of your eye, you watch as Suki sprints towards the teenaged firebender. The boy in question hurling balls of flame at her as she ducks and twirls, diving forward only to be knocked out of the air by a well aimed hit of the rhino’s tail. Fear crashes into you like an errant wave as you watch flames barrel towards Suki, Sokka diving in at the last second to block the blow--much to your instant relief.

Relief which is immediately dissolved as the firebender rears back his fist for another blow.

“Oh no you _don’t!”_ you shout, urging your rhino forward and slamming into his mount. Sending him flying and using the extra momentum to launch yourself forward. Bracing yourself for a fight as Sokka and Suki stand by your side, the teen blinking his eyes open and kicking out his leg. Planting his palm to the ground and performing a spinning heel kick, flames trailing from his sole as he smoothly rises to his feet; leaving you the last one standing as you face off against your scarred opponent.

His helmet had long since fallen off, and with the dying sunlight glancing over his cheek; he is _insufferably_ attractive. Hair pulled back and shaven into a phoenix plume, golden eyes that glimmer like molten pools of lava and are currently _glaring at you with the force of a thousand suns_. 

With a _shnick_ of metal, a golden shield spirals out atop your forearm. Waves of fire slamming into the metal as you barely manage to head off his attack, ducking under his outstretched arm and dodging the following kick. Like a flowing river, you sidestep and avoid his attacks, using his own weight against him as you fight for the upperhand. Flames licking over your skin as they graze by, the gritty scent of smoke burning your nostrils as you pant for breath. Your fans doing little more than fanning the flames.

“Where is he?” your opponent bellows, fire spewing from his fist and almost hitting you square in the face, “where is the Avatar!?”

“Like I’d tell you!” you retort, diving aside as fire jumps up and almost ignites your kimono, “watch it, asshole!”

He scowls, rushing towards you and delivering a fierce series of blows; most of which manage to land. You can almost feel the bruises forming as you haphazardly slash your fans, metal sparking as they graze over his chestplate. Cutting into the insulated fabric that makes up his sleeve.

“Karma,” you say smugly, shouting in indignation as flames shoot out from his palm and singe the edge of your kimono, “oh, for Yangchen’s sake! You’ll pay for that, literally!”

He smirks, and--true to your word--you launch yourself towards him and plant a kick straight to his chest. Sending him flying back into the middle of the street, landing on his back with a nebulous puff of dirt. Light on your feet, you dart forward and aim your fans threateningly at his throat. The sharp, metal edges gleaming in the firelight.

“Now, hand over your coins,” you grin, victory singing in your chest as you inch forward. 

His face twists into an--even deeper--scowl. Surging forward and unexpectedly knocking you to the ground with a few well aimed kicks and fire blasts. Your fans slipping from your grasp and skittering away, leaving you sprawled out and defenseless as he prepares to deliver the final blow.

“Karma,” he echoes, rearing back his fist as you flinch and cover your face (for a moment, and only a moment, you swear you see something flicker in his eyes. Something far too regretful and scared to match the person standing before you).

“Hey!” A familiar voice interrupts, a gust of air knocking your soon-to-be-killer away, “over here, Zuko!”

“Finally,” Zuko growls impatiently, fire coiling around his palms as his attention shifts to the airbender.

“Oh, thank the spirits. Get ‘em Aang!” you cry out in relief, stumbling away as the two clash. 

The battle is surprisingly quick. Aang expertly using his air staff to dispel the balls of flame Zuko fires his way, light on his feet as he dances to the side and snatches your fans off the ground. Turning on his heel and using them to send a veritable wall of air at Zuko, the firebender flying backwards and crashing into a building. Wood splintering and buckling under his weight as the building shudders.

There’s a stillness afterwards. Aang slumping his shoulders and looking strangely downcast as you jog up to meet him.

“Thank you, Aang,” you say gratefully, laying a hand on his shoulder, “you just saved my life.”

“Yeah,” he says ashamedly, looking out over the burning village of Kyoshi, “but it’s my fault it was in danger.”

“You did what you could,” you reassure him, giving his shoulder a squeeze, “and I, for one, rather like being alive.” He gives you a half-smile, handing you your fans and running off to meet Katara somewhere in the distance.

You heave a sigh, something panging in your chest as you watch your home burn. Fire nation soldiers still roaming the streets despite the warriors best efforts. It’s a deep ache of hurt, a nugget of injustice that burrows it’s way into your heart and calcifies.

Suddenly, a deep bellow rolls through the street. A shadow passing overhead as you glance up and laugh in disbelief.

It’s Appa, flying with ease as the other three balance on his back.

“Y/N!” Aang calls out, waving you down as he grips onto the reins, “come on!”

Smiling despite the destruction, you climb up onto a still intact roof and sprint over to the edge. Launching off of the shingles and just managing to grab a handful of Appa’s shaggy fur, pulling yourself up onto the saddle with only a little help from the others.

“Thanks I--look out!” you shout, lurching forward and blocking a blast of flame with your shield. Peering over the metal edge and watching as Zuko prepares another attack, rearing back your arm and chucking your fan at his head. The folded edge ricocheting off his forehead and returning to your open palm, the teen falling back onto his ass as he glares up at you.

“Aw yeah, that’s what I’m talking about!” Sokka cheers, still in full Kyoshi regalia as he pumps a fist in the air, “boomerang style!”

Appa flies out over the bay, Aang still looking downcast as he looks over the island of Kyoshi. Plumes of smoke rising up into the air as flames lick at the sky.

“I know it’s hard, but you did the right thing,” Katara says gently, reassuring Aang even as he stares down at his hands, “Zuko would’ve destroyed the whole place if we stayed.”

“They’ll be okay, Aang,” you add on, smiling slightly even as it hurts.

With your words, he seems to make up his mind about something. Spine going straight as he turns and slips off of Appa, plummeting into the ocean below.

“What are you doing!?” Katara calls after him, watching anxiously as he disappears beneath the waves. The three of you peering over the edge as you wait for something to happen.

And something does happen. Something incredible.

With a pitching roar, unagi breaches from the water. Aang riding atop it’s head as it twists and writhes, tugging on the barbels and prompting its mouth to fall open and spew water onto the burning village. Extinguishing the fires and cleansing the air of smoke (with the added benefit of soaking the soldiers to the bone).

Goal accomplished, Aang launches himself back onto Appa’s back. Gracefully sitting down in the saddle as Appa sails off into the sunset.

“I know, I know. That was stupid and dangerous,” he sighs, awkwardly glancing away as Katara gives him a look.

“Yes, it was,” she answers, pulling him in for a hug which he eagerly reciprocates. Eventually letting go and turning to face you, “well, welcome aboard, Y/N!”

“It’s too late to go back, now,” Sokka teases, elbowing you in the ribs and wincing as you get him back.

It seems your adventure’s finally begun.


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: light smut, slight choking, biting

Turns out, adventure’s not all it’s cracked up to be.

Between being trapped in rock candy, imprisoned on a ship, and battling ancient spirits of the forest; you’ve certainly had your work cut out for you. Travelling willy-nilly as Aang--who has the attention span of an arctic goldfish--stops wherever he pleases. And while that’s by no means a bad thing--you’ve seen so many breathtaking and awe-inspiring sights during these little ventures--it’s about time you’ve had some direction.

So thank the spirits for Avatar Roku and his mysterious message.

And curse him a thousand times over for the sheer disaster which was the fire temple.

The blockade, the fire sages; the odds had been stacked up against you since the beginning. Although of course, that was to be expected. Considering how you’d literally waltzed into the fire nation with the _Avatar_ at your side. Riding atop the incredibly conspicuous Appa on a _cloudless_ day. You may as well have painted a glowing target on your back saying ‘shoot here! Avatar on board!’

But despite said insurmountable odds, you made it inside (thanks to fire sage Shyu and the underground tunnels). And now, the only thing standing in the way of the sanctuary was the impossible to open, uber-fancy iron door that stretched up to the ceiling.

“Only a fully realized Avatar is powerful enough to open this door alone,” Shyu says defeatedly, Aang bowing his head in shame as he touches the gate, “otherwise, the sages must open the doors together with five simultaneous fire blasts.”

Perfect...

“Any secret firebenders in our midst?” you joke half-heartedly, eyeing the fancy metal work that makes up the door. Five silver dragons entwined in a tangled knot, mouths gaping open as they await a blast of fire. 

Fire that you do not have.

“No…” Sokka hums, thoughtfully stroking his chin as he screws up his brow, “but maybe we could make one…”

“What,” you deadpan, blinking rapidly as you try to make sense of his words.

“Just watch,” he assures you, detaching one of the lamps from the wall and snuffing out the wick. He then reaches into his pack and pulls out a sheet of leather along with a length of twine. Tearing the skin into five sections and bundling them into haphazard sacks. Finally, he pours the lamp oil into the casings and ties them closed with the twine, “this is a trick I picked up from my father. If we seal the lamp oil in these casings and then have Shyu light the twine, we’ll have some fake firebending!” He holds one of the finished bags aloft, Momo poking at the sodden material with an inquisitive finger.

“You’ve really outdone yourself this time, Sokka,” Katara compliments, nodding approvingly.

“This might actually work,” Shyu marvels, hope taking flight once again. Sokka shoves the sacks into the dragon’s silver maws, making sure they’re set to ignite at a moment’s notice. “The sage’s will hear the explosion,” Shyu warns as Sokka works, “so as soon as they go off, you rush in.” You all nod, retreating behind an embellished pillar as you watch Shyu light the fuse. Plugging your ears as the rope sizzles, Sokka cowering behind his sister as Momo chitters nervously.

Seconds tick by in silence, and then _boom!_ Fire and smoke billows from the dragon’s mouths, shrouding the door in thick, dark smog as burning heat rushes forth. Without a moment’s hesitation, Aang charges through the smoke and tugs at the door handle. Straining and pulling with his full weight as the door stubbornly refuses to budge.

“They’re still locked!” he shouts in disbelief, recoiling from the handle as if it’d burned. The silver dragon’s grinning mockingly as you despair.

“It didn’t work,” you whisper, defeat tinting your voice as the sun dips closer to the horizon. Marking the rapidly approaching end of the solstice.

Frustrated, Aang swings his arms and slices at the door with daggers of air. Shouting, “why won’t it open!?” as wind ricochets off the metal and whips at your face. Stealing the breath from your lungs as your clothes flap in the violent breeze.

“Aang, stop!” Katara orders, grabbing the airbender’s arm and tugging imploringly, “there’s nothing else we can do.” Having exhausted his options, Aang slumps forward in defeat. Eyes downcast and shoulders hunched as he avoids your gaze.

“I’m sorry I put you through all this for nothing,” he apologizes, still guilt ridden even as you lay a comforting hand on his shoulder. Wincing slightly as you remember how you’d fallen off Appa on the way here.

“I don’t get it,” Sokka laments to himself, trailing a finger through the layers of soot, “that blast looked just as strong as any firebending I’ve seen.”

A beat passes.

“Sokka, you’re a genius!” Katara exclaims, startling you and Aang from your mournful reverie.

“Did I miss something?” you sputter, lifting your hand from Aang’s shoulder and placing it on your hip, “how exactly is Sokka a genius? His plan didn’t even work.”

“Exactly!” Sokka nods in agreement, eyes suddenly widening as he recognizes the insult, “hey, wait a second--”

“You’re right, Sokka’s plan didn’t work,” Katara affirms, “but it _looks_ like it did.” The other two look on in confusion, but realization dawns as you finally connect the dots.

“Katara, _you’re_ a genius,” you compliment, rushing forward and touching the blackened doorframe, “if we play our cards right, we can make them _think_ Aang’s inside.”

“And when they open the doors…” Sokka continues, catching onto your train of thought, “Aang can sneak in!”

“Exactly!” you nod, smiling widely as you watch your friends perk up at your idea.

“Well, we have no time to lose!” Sokka says, scooping Momo off the ground and shoving him through one of the pipes. The lemur screeching and clawing at him in protest, “c’mon, Momo! You have to carry your weight.”

“What’s Momo got to do with this?” Aang asks, coming to the defense of his beloved lemur.

“He’s the only one--hey, watch it!--who can get inside,” Sokka explains, wrestling with the lemur as it begrudgingly crawls through the pipes and hops out on the other side, “and look!” He points to the small gap in the threshold, Momo’s shadow filtering through the tiny crack, “now the illusion is set.”

You open your mouth to say something--around the lines of _good idea Sokka_ or _let’s not bully the lemur, Sokka--_ but are quickly ushered into hiding by Shyu. The four of you tucked behind the towering stone pillars as the other sages round the corner. Shyu moves to confront them, passing off the story that Aang had somehow made his way inside the sanctuary. And despite the improbability, they fall for it hook line and sinker. Directing fire into the pipes and unlocking the door with a complex series of locks and dials, the dragons spiraling and shifting as if they were alive.

So imagine their surprise when all they find is a sneezing Momo.

“We’ve been tricked!” the Great Sage realizes far too late, sent stumbling back as Momo propels himself into their face. Scratching and clawing with all the ire of a soot-covered lemur. The sudden ambush is tripled as you, Katara, and Sokka join the fray. Shyu turning on his fellow sages and pinning one of them to the ground.

“Now Aang!” you shout, helping Momo by flipping the Great Sage onto his back. The lemur flapping his wings and kicking his feet as a distraction.

Nothing.

“Aang, now’s your chance!” Katara cries out, eyes darting around the room in search of the missing airbender.

And that’s when you see him. Arms pinned behind his back by the man you never wanted to see again.

“The Avatar’s coming with me,” Zuko orders, holding a struggling Aang in his arms without even a hint of remorse, “close the doors!” Emboldened, the other sages quickly get the upper hand. Taking down Katara, Sokka, and Shyu in no time flat. Dutifully following Zuko’s orders and beginning the process of sealing the doors.

You, on the other hand, are still stubbornly fighting.

You may not have your makeup, nor the backing of your sisters-in-arms. But you can still do some serious damage.

And so can Aang, it seems.

For in the blink of an eye, he’s broken out of Zuko’s hold and is sprinting across the room. Dodging attacks and hurling himself towards the rapidly closing doors.

“Aang!” you shout, squatting down and offering him a boost. Twining your fingers together and using your hands as a platform, pushing upward as he steps onto your palm and launches himself into the air. The extra momentum allowing him to slip between the gap just before the doors slam shut. Blinding blue light streams out from under the door, washing over you in a wave of tingling heat before dissipating. The lock slamming shut with an echoing _bang._

“He made it!” Katara celebrates, relieved even as she and Sokka are chained to one of the pillars. 

You, on the other hand, are tied to the opposite pillar. Chainlinks digging into your chest as you kick and thrash against your bonds. Watching helplessly as Zuko and the other sages try and fail to open the door, ultimately forcing Shyu to his knees and interrogating him.

“Why did you help the Avatar?” Zuko demands, pointing an accusing finger in his face as he glares.

“Because it was once the sage’s duty,” Shyu answers resolutely, “it is still our duty.”

There’s a heavy silence afterwards, broken by a sardonic clap and the unmistakable sound of shifting armor. You shift in your chains, turning your head and watching as a crowd of fire nation soldiers flood into the room. Led by a tall, imposing man with a slick topknot and shaven mutton chops.

“What a moving and heartfelt performance,” the leader drawls, directing his soldiers to surround the sages, “I’m certain the Fire Lord will understand, when you explain why you’ve betrayed him.”

This isn’t good.

“Commander Zhao,” the Great Sage regales, dipping into a low bow as the soldiers move to encircle...Zuko?

“And Prince Zuko,” Zhao tuts, unphased as the teen directs a seething glare his way, “it was a noble effort, but your little smokescreen didn’t work.” 

Zuko clenches his fists, seemingly seconds away from attacking the smug commander. Which doesn’t make sense, considering how they’re both on the same side. 

Right?

“Two traitors in one day,” Zhao smirks, one of his soldiers grabbing hold of Zuko like he’d done to Aang moments before, “the Fire Lord will be pleased.”

Before you can unpack all that, Zuko shouts, “you’re too late, Zhao. The Avatar’s inside and the doors are sealed.”

“No matter,” Zhao answers coolly, “sooner or later, he has to come out.”

Fear takes root in your gut like a heavy stone. Weighing you down like an anchor as you watch the soldiers line up in front of the door. Ready to fire as they await Aang's reappearance.

So you’re not in the best of moods as Zuko is tied up beside you.

“ _You,”_ you both growl at the same time, mirroring expressions of hatred on both of your faces.

“You singed my kimono,” you say petulantly, glowering at the teen as his lip curls in distaste.

“You injured my rhinos,” he fires back, eyes narrowed and brow furrowed. The skin around his left eye drawn taut.

“You burned down my village,” you seethe. Gritting your teeth as you pour all of your contempt and hatred into your words.

“You tried to kill me,” he retorts, anger rising in a crescendo as his eyelid ticks, “that fan could’ve decapitated me.”

You scoff. “ _You_ tried to kill _me!”_ you reply indignantly, “and the Avatar! Y’know, last hope for the world? Final chance at peace?”

“The Avatar is the only thing standing in the way of fire nation victory--”

“Oh, just shut up,” you glare, rolling your eyes to the ceiling, “if I end up dying here, propaganda is the last thing I want to hear.”

“It’s not--” he objects, but is quickly cut off by your snippy retort.

“Sure,” you snort, “just like how my village is _not_ burned down.”

“You were harboring the Avatar,” he rationalizes, “you’re lucky he left when he did.”

“Or what,” you prompt, voice going deadly calm as you stare at him, “ _or what_.” 

“I think you know,” he answers coolly, not even flinching as you bare your teeth and snarl like a cornered polar leopard. There’s barely an inch of space between you, the two of you having shifted closer over the course of your argument. Almost chest to chest as you nearly bump noses.

“You--you _ash maker_ ,” you hiss, the slur falling from your lips with disturbing ease. There’s almost no reaction on his part, besides the imperceptible twitch of his right eye (the skin around the left is stiff and unresponsive). He opens his mouth as if to say something, but is interrupted by the sanctuary doors sliding open. Piercing blue light streaming from the cracks as Aang’s eyes glow in the darkness.

“Fire!” Zhao orders, the soldiers following his lead and directing streams of flame at the shadowy figure within. Ignoring your cries as the fire swirls and shifts, shrouding Aang from view.

But when the flames die out, Avatar Roku stands where Aang once was.

As simply as breathing, Roku pushes outward with his palms and directs a wall of flame forwards. The stifling, all-consuming heat disintegrating the chains that bind you upon contact. Before you can even blink, Zuko pushes you aside and sprints away. Catching you in the ribs with his elbow and knocking the air from your lungs as he retreats.

Not bothering to spare him a second thought, you run to meet up with your friends. The chaos of the crumbling temple making time pass by in fragments, snippets of film that leave you reeling as Avatar Roku fades away to reveal...Aang.

There’s no time to address that fallacy, helping Aang to his feet and supporting him as you stumble over to the stairwell. Stomach dropping out from under you as you nearly plunge into bubbling lava. You turn to a gaping hole in the wall, options running short as stone crumbles and breaks underfoot. The whole temple moving as it collapses into the lava lake below.

But rescue comes in the form of Appa and Momo, the four of you blindly leaping from the temple and landing joltingly in the bison’s saddle. Sailing away as the temple collapses in on itself like a deck of cards.

Maybe adventure’s not so fun anymore.

* * * *

You shouldn’t have wished for structure. Because now, instead of a schedule.

You have a deadline.

Sozin's comet will arrive by the end of the summer. Meaning Aang has less than a year to master all four elements and save the world.

So you can kind of understand why Katara would steal that waterbending scroll.

Kind of.

Because sure, advanced waterbending techniques are a pretty nifty thing to have on hand. But becoming enemy number one for a group of rowdy pirates is certainly not worth the trouble.

But what’s done is done. And now, you must deal with the consequences.

Which are pretty steep, considering how Katara is now _missing._

Well, not missing, you suppose. She’s probably just practicing her bending under the cover of darkness. Sneaking the scroll despite her impassioned speech about never touching it again.

So you would’ve gone right back to sleep, if it weren’t for the distant snap of twigs in the forest.

Paranoid, you jump to your feet and sneak past the treeline. Deciding not to wake your friends as that would just alert whoever was lurking in the woods. Fans held at the ready as you gracefully pick your way across the forest floor, breath still in your chest as you peer through the foliage.

“In the name of Oma’s bastard children,” you mutter quietly to yourself, stepping out from the trees to confront your opponent, “what are _you_ doing here?”

Zuko turns to face you, swiftly blocking your attack and attempting to sweep your legs out from under you. A move which you barely avoid, stumbling over your footing as you duck and sidestep his following punches. Crashing to the ground as his attacks overwhelm you (maybe you _should’ve_ woken up the group).

As if reading your thoughts, Zuko smirks, “guess there’s no one to save you this time.” The hint of smugness in his tone making your chest grow tight with anger (and the slightest dollop of fear).

“Where are your men?” you clip back, slicing your fans and grazing the tip of his nose. Leaping to your feet and shifting your weight from one foot to the other, “what’s gonna happen with no one here babysitting you?” You pitch your voice with the last few words, infantilizing your tone like a mother talking to a crying child.

He glowers, eyes burning like embers as he lunges forward and jabs at your ribs. Aiming a kick to your shin which you smoothly avoid, ducking down and elbowing his side in turn. The air is electric, burning. Oxygen sucked from your lungs as plumes of smoke drift through the breeze. He moves like a flickering candle, steady yet unpredictable. Light on his feet and good with his hands in a way that is almost _unfairly_ attractive. Moonlight glances over his cheek in a sharp cut of silver, golden irises aglow even in the dim lighting.

Distracted as you are, you’re unable to avoid the next punch. Sent sprawling as your cheek smarts from the vicious blow. 

“I think I’ll be just fine,” Zuko growls, lips upturned in victory as you try to regain your senses.

“Wouldn’t count on it,” you answer, voice slurring only the slightest bit, “Aang!”

Zuko turns to where you’re looking, distracted by your misdirection as you charge forward and tackle him to the ground. The two of you fighting and rolling in the dirt like roughhousing boys. Blasts of flame barely missing your face as you claw and kick and scratch like a woman possessed. The sharp edges of his armor cutting into your stomach as you roll him onto his back, grabbing at his flailing limbs as you try and fail to pin him to the ground.

Your world spinning on its axis, you’re swept up off the floor and forced to your feet. Toes dragging through the mud as Zuko slams your back against the trunk of a tree, ignoring your cursing as he pinions your hands behind your back. The rough pattern of the bark scratching against your wrists.

Rationality having long since fled, you lunge forward and sink your teeth into the skin just below his right ear. Stubbornly holding on even as he shouts and grips you by the throat. Vision going fuzzy around the edges as he cuts off your air supply.

Panting for breath and desperate for air, you finally let go. But not before giving his neck a vindictive swipe of your tongue. An action meant to disgust, revile, enrage.

Not... _this_.

Your eyes dart up in surprise, locking onto his own as you watch his pupils dilate. Chest heaving and face flush as you feel sweat gather on the back of your neck, the adrenaline of the fight travelling down down down and coiling in your gut.

_(No no no no no)._

You’re not sure who moves first, who closes in the gap and ruins everything. Lips pressed to lips in a mockery of tenderness, but a mirror to passion. Noses bumping and teeth clashing as you fight for the upperhand, clumsy and awkward and about what you’d expect for two inexperienced teens. There’s salt on your tongue and woodsmoke in your lungs, and you swear the sky itself burns as you foolishly press closer. Chasing after something that tugs at your gut and curls around your spine like a burning noose. Wrapped around your throat and pulling tight as you toss aside reason and loyalty for _this._

 _This this this._ This that scalds and brands and will forever mark your spirit with betrayal. This is not love--this is not even _like--_ yet you throw away your morality for the sake of...what, exactly? Adventure? Pain? Yearning? Things that you already have or would like to live without?

You should pull away, should knock him to the ground before this becomes even more complex. Should...should…

Should wiggle your arms free and wrap them around his shoulders. Should cup the base of his skull and tilt his head back, slanting your mouth over his and swiping your tongue across the seam of his lips. Should jut out your hips and roll upwards and--

Oh.

Oh _no._

It’s awkward and foreign, clothes bunching uncomfortably as you move. But there’s still a spark, a spark that grows into a blaze as you abandon everything and let yourself get swept away in the moment. Embarrassment and arousal coloring your cheeks as he responds to your abject desperation. Moving in tandem as he grinds against you in a frenzy.

And just as things get heated, he freezes. Pulling away and staring at you like you’d just killed his pet turtleduck or something. Blinking once, twice, before he tries to gather the shattered remnants of your mutual animosity.

“Ha!” he laughs, the sound strained and unconvincing, “you--uh--you fell for it!” The silence is deafening, and he rushes to fill it, “my plan! You fell for, uh, my plan.”

“Your plan.”

“My plan!” he snaps, throwing himself away from you as if you were on fire, “I needed to distract you, and I distracted you. That’s it.”

“Distract me…” you trail off, deciding to shove the whole mess aside and focus in on his words, “where’s Katara.”

He grins, “she led me right to you. And without you there, I’m sure the Avatar was just...up for grabs.”

So while you were making out with a firebender…your friends were being captured.

Great. You are officially the worst.

“Katara would never betray us,” you insist, “what did you do to her?”

“We found her on the shore, it was easy enough to guess--”

And that was enough for you.

Turning on your heel, you shove him away and sprint to where you guess your friends are. Pushing everything deep, deep down as you weave between the trees, dodging blasts of flame as you run as fast as you can.

This was a mistake.

And _no one_ is going to find out about it.


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: smut, implied death threat

And, surprisingly, no one did.

It was the miracle of all miracles, the universe paying you back for all the shit it put you through. Taking pity on you as you grapple with whatever the fuck had just happened.

Because you’d just kissed a firebender. No, you just  _ made out  _ with  _ Zuko;  _ two things you’d never thought would go together. A combination that had never crossed your mind until...the  _ incident.  _ A combination that you never,  _ ever, _ wanted to witness again.

(Well, maybe just a  _ little _ bit--

No!)

So you keep quiet. Lips sealed and locked a thousand times over as you continue traveling as usual. Usual being a group of vengeful Freedom Fighters, angry tribesmen, and crazy, life threatening thunderstorms. And throughout all the insanity, Zuko hasn’t made an appearance. Having practically dropped off the face of the earth after your amorous encounter.

Which is for the best, considering the state your friends are in now.

“I promise you, I’m not sick!” Sokka says emphatically. Sweat dripping down his pallid face as he lays bundled in blankets, shaking with chills despite the multiple layers he’s swaddled in. Appa nosing at his side as he lays wedged between two of the bison’s legs.

“Sure,” you humor him, dabbing his face with a cool cloth as you wait for Katara to return with some more water.

“I’m not, look!” he insists, staring at you unwaveringly with a focused expression on his face, “see?”

You raise a concerned brow, “nothing happened.”

He scoffs, “did you not see my cartwheel-backflip combo?”

“Ah,” you hum in assent, pressing the back of your hand to his forehead and checking his temperature, “of course I did.” He grins victoriously, eyes crossed ever so slightly as his head lists to the side.

“How’s he doing?” Katara asks, sitting down beside her brother as she uncaps her water skin. Aang fidgeting nervously behind her as he frets over what to do.

“Not great,” you confess, pulling the blankets up as they slip down his chest, “that storm really did a number on him.” Sokka sniffs loudly at your words, fingers twitching as he clutches at the furs. 

“I couldn’t find any ginger root for the tea,” Aang says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, “but I found a map.” He pulls out a scroll, rolling out the paper and looking over the brushwork,  “there’s an herbalist institute on the top of that mountain, we could probably find a cure for Sokka there.”

“Aang, he’s in no condition to travel,” Katara objects, “Sokka just needs more rest. I’m sure he’ll be better by tomorrow.” As she finishes her sentence, she doubles over coughing. Eyes watering from the sheer force of it.

“Not you too,” you say distressingly, reaching out and checking her temperature. Worrying your lower lip between your teeth as you notice her skyrocketing temperature.

“Relax,” she says dismissively, pulling away, “it was just a little cough. I’m fin--” She coughs again, having the decency to cover her mouth as she does so.

“That’s how Sokka started yesterday!” Aang says in alarm, “now look at him, he thinks he’s an earthbender!” With a sudden burst of energy, Sokka raises his arms. Making various mouth noises as he flails and flexes his hands, focusing his attention on a pile of pebbles, “a few more hours and you’ll be talking nonsense too.” Determined, he stands and grabs his staff. Stalking off to the open archway and snapping his glider open, “I’m going to find some medicine.” Just before he takes to the skies, thunder booms and lightning strikes the earth in an electric flash, “uh...maybe it’s safer to go on foot.

“I’m coming with you,” you insist, standing to your feet and jogging over to meet him, “you might need back up. And the last thing I want is to get sick, too.”

Aang nods, turning to Appa and Momo and saying solemnly, “keep an eye on them, guys.” He grabs your hand and tosses his staff aside, charging forward and dragging you along like a toy on a string. Your feet skip over the ground as you struggle to keep up, only your tight grip on his fingers keeping you from flying away.

This should be quick.

* * * *

It was, in fact,  _ not  _ quick _. _

Head clutched in your hands, you anxiously pace about your cell. Wearing a groove into the concrete as your eyes adjust to the darkness. Cursing yourself and your rotten luck for the situation you’re now in.

Stupid frogs and stupid archers and stupid old ladies. Stupid Zhao and his stupid, smug grin and his drawling voice as he shouts through the barred window of your cell. ( _ “The Avatar’s far too important to let die. But you...well, you’re nothing special.”)  _ Stupid fire nation and stupid Fire Lord. Stupid war and stupid, stupid fire nation prince and his stupidly good kisses.

You let out a frustrated roar, swinging your foot and smashing it into the wall. Immediately regretting your decision as your toes smart in protest, the painful throbbing prompting you to plant your ass to the floor. Drawing your knees to your chest as you analyze your predicament.

Aang is captured, you know that for certain. Locked up somewhere in this eyesore of a tower, far more guarded and chained than you are. You’ve been stripped of your weapons, the only things remaining being the clothes on your back and…

Your necklace.

Like you’ve done a thousand times before, you reach up and clutch at the smooth stone of the charm. Calming yourself down as you try to gather your wits and form a plan.

But just as you begin to sketch out a strategy, you hear something in the hall. Your cell door suddenly swinging open and allowing light to stream inside. You cover your eyes and squint in the blinding glow, mouth gaping open as you notice your rescuer standing in the doorway.

It’s definitely not Aang, that’s for sure. They’re dressed entirely in black, a grinning, blue and white spirit mask hiding their face as they step inside. A pair of broadswords clutched in their gloved hands, well oiled and singing with victory yet to come.

“You’re not here to kill me, right?” you question, wary of this stranger’s sudden appearance.

They shake their head, sheathing their swords in solidarity.

“So...you’re here for a rescue?” they nod, “not me, though.” They nod, though it’s almost apologetic (maybe you’re just reading into things), “Aang then.”

They nod again, much more enthusiastic this time.

“Hate to break it to you, but I’m just dead weight. Without my weapons--”

A sudden clang stops you in your tracks, your rescuer having dumped your weapons at your feet. 

“Perfect,” you grin, catlike and vengeful. You crouch down and snap open your fans, sheathing your katana and slipping your shield over your wrist, “a guy after my own heart. You are a guy, right?”

They nod, stilted and almost awkward.

“You have a name?”

Silence.

“You don’t talk much, do you.”

Silence.

“Well then,  Miànjù,” you say, naming your mysterious rescuer, “we have no time to lose. Lead the way.”

Seemingly grateful for the direction, Miànjù ducks out of the room and slips away. Trusting you to follow as he leads you through winding halls and up several flights of stairs. Sneaking past the guards and avoiding the patrols with what seems to be a sixth sense. Working together, the two of you lure the guards away from Aang’s cell and hang them from the ceiling like roasted moo-sow. Knocking the final one aside before they can even call for help.

Flashing Miànjù a thumbs up, you force open the door and barge into the cell. Locking eyes with Aang as he stares wide eyed at both you and your rescuer, wrists and ankles chained down and uncomfortably spread apart.

“Y/N? How--” he yelps as Miànjù swings down with his broadswords, freeing him from the chains and slicing off the cuffs, “what’s going on?”

“Rescue mission, I think,” you explain pseudo-confidently.

“And who’s that guy?” he asks, pointing at Miànjù’s back as he turns and heads out the door.

“No idea,” you confess, “but he’s on our side.”

“Awesome,” Aang grins, not so subtly fawning over the guy. As he’s distracted, a frog wriggles out from under his shirt and hops away. Half frozen as it drags itself towards the door, “noo, come back! My friends need to suck on you!”

Annoyed by your dawdling, Miànjù turns around and makes a sharp movement with his arm. As if to say  _ hurry up, we don’t have much time. _

Exchanging a look, the two of you move to catch up with him. Following his lead as he guides you through the stronghold and down into the sewers (pausing a couple of times to stop Aang from his frog-gathering attempts). Ankle deep in filmy water, you peer upwards through the grate and plaster yourself to the sewer wall. Slipping through the bars and carefully ascending to the surface, wary of the surrounding guards as you follow after Miànjù to the first of many stone walls. Grabbing onto a dangling rope and using it to scale to the top.

Or at least, you try to.

Bells ring and horns sound, guards shouting as they call attention to your measly excuse of an escape attempt. You glance up, scrambling back as you watch a soldier whip out a sword and slice through the rope. All three of you unceremoniously falling to the ground.

Before you can even blink,  Miànjù points to the rapidly closing gates and darts off. You and Aang trailing at his heels as he charges forward and breaks through the soldiers ranks, backed up by Aang and his devastating blast of air. 

But despite your efforts, the gates slam closed. Soldiers streaming in by the dozens as you prepare for battle, w hipping out your fans and standing at  Miànjù’s back. The two of you completely surrounded as the soldiers wave and jab with their ribboned spears. 

And yet, despite the odds, you work together perfectly. Movements flowing like a river as you deflect and attack as one. Fitting together like two polished gears, twirling around one another like birds in flight. Lithe and graceful and almost unreal.

But before you’re caught up in that, Aang sweeps away the troops with a wave of air. Launching the three of you upwards with a spiralling torrent of wind, landing on top of the wall and facing off against the soldiers there. With a sudden lurch of your stomach, you’re swept up in  Miànjù’s arms. The two of you dangling below Aang as he twirls his impromptu staff and propels you through the skies. Dipping low as he struggles to stay above ground, dodging spears as you all crash on top of the next wall. Sprawled out on your stomach as soldiers rush in from all sides.

Without a moment’s rest, you lunge forward and block a spearhead before it can strike  Miànjù . Ducking and weaving as you fight to stave off the endless stream of soldiers, knocking them back even as they prop up ladders and climb towards you.

Clearing the ladders of soldiers, Aang scoops up two of the three contraptions and rushes over to  Miànjù. Shouting, “take this!” as he shoves one of the ladders into his arms, balancing atop the final structure and tipping forward. Clearing a large swathe of land as you and Miànjù jump onto his back, the airbender letting out a little ‘eek!’ as you settle in place. He sets down the next ladder and you all shift onto it, tilting forwards and scrambling to place the following one before you splat onto the ground.

All is well. That is, until a soldier lights the ladder on fire.

“Jump!” Aang shouts, pitching forward and clearing the final gap just before the flames reach him. All three of you straining to reach the last wall and ultimately falling short,  Miànjù gripping the edge with his fingertips only to let go under your combined weight.

Everything goes by in a blur after that. The soldiers advancing on your little trio, Aang projecting a sphere of air as waves of fire stream towards you; Zhao shouting about the Avatar being captured alive.

Next thing you know, Miànjù has a blade to Aang’s neck.

Things are a bit more clear after that.

It makes sense, you suppose. The Avatar is the perfect bargaining chip in a situation like this. And it’s not like Miànjù actually wants to hurt him, right?

Right?

Either way, his plan works. Zhao ordering the door to open and allowing the three of you to slip out. Aang’s eyes cutting to yours as Miànjù backs away, swords pressed against his jugular as you slowly make your way out. You say nothing, shaking your head ever so slightly as you wait for Miànjù to make the next move.

So it’s a bit of a surprise when an arrow flies in and knocks him out.

He falls back like a puppet whose strings have been cut, sprawled out on the ground with his mask loose around his face. A sliver of scarred, familiar skin peeking out from beneath the material.

(No).

Stunned, you crouch down and curl your fingers around the mask. Eyes streaming as billowing dust clouds swirl and hide you from view. It’s a quality mask. Deep blues and pearly whites that shine even in the darkness, hardly any chips to be seen.

(No no no).

Breath caught in your throat, you slowly tug it off. 

(Though there’s really no point in doing so, as you already know who’s underneath).

“Zuko,” you whisper, throwing yourself back as Aang gasps. Conflict whirling in your head as you watch the soldiers advance, taking a stumbling step back as you weigh your options.

In the end...

There really isn’t much of a choice.

* * * *

Sunlight streams through the thick canopy of the forest. Warm, golden light dappling the leaf scattered floor as you settle in beside Aang. Knees hooked beneath your chin as you anxiously watch over the unconscious Zuko. Every twitch of his eyelids making you tense up in anticipation.

Sure, you rescued him. Whoop-di-doo, you did the right thing. But that certainly doesn’t mean you trust him. His motives may be all out of whack, but who knows what he’ll do once he wakes up.

And with his eyes now fluttering open, it seems you’re about to find out.

“You know what the worst part of being born a hundred years ago is?” Aang says quietly, staring down at his feet as he speaks, “I miss all the friends I used to hang out with. Before the war started, I used to always visit my friend Kuzon. The two of us, we’d get in and out of so much trouble together. He was one of the best friends I ever had,” he glances away, eyes downcast as you lay your hand on his shoulder, “and he was from the fire nation, just like you.” He turns and gives Zuko an innocently hopeful look, “if we knew each other back then, do you think we could've been friends too?”

A beat passes, the three of you staring at one another assessively. Just waiting for something to happen, for someone to make a move. To accept the olive branch or burn it to ashes.

Unsurprisingly, the firebender chooses to burn.

Flames surge forward in a whirling spiral, the two of you diving out of the way just before you’re struck. Aang leaping upwards and melting into the branches, hesitating slightly as he glances down at you.

“Go!” you shout, whipping out your fans and slipping into a ready stance. Facing off against Zuko in an unexpected yet completely expected turn of events, “we’re gonna talk.”

(If by talk you mean beat the shit out of him…)

Still uncertain, Aang heeds your advice. Darting through the branches like a hog monkey, slipping away into the depths of the forest before you can even blink.

“Y/N,” Zuko glowers, the fact that he knows your name making you falter.

“Zuko,” you echo, tense all over as you wait for the fight to begin, “why’d you do it? Why’d you sabotage your precious ‘fire nation victory?’”

“I didn’t!” he answers indignantly, rolling his shoulders back and stepping closer. His hair is loose, brushing past his shoulders and hanging limply at the back of his skull. Catching on the straps of his sheath as he turns his head.

“You kinda did,” you shrug, still on edge even as he makes no move to attack, “Zhao would’ve brought in Aang, and the war would’ve been won. Why’d you stop him?”

“You don’t understand!” he snaps.

“Obviously.”

He clenches his fists and huffs, sparks of flame dancing between his teeth as he seethes, “I need the Avatar to restore my honor, to return to my country and throne.”

“What, so you’re like, banished?” you question, the two of you now circling one another. Tension about ready to snap, “I thought you were the prince.”

“I  _ am _ the prince!” he shouts, suddenly lunging forward with his broadswords. The blow glancing uselessly off your fans, “I just need to prove myself. That’s why my father gave me this task.”

“To catch the Avatar?” you say wryly, ducking beneath his swinging sword and slicing your fans in retaliation, “it was a fool's errand, that’s what it was. Not a test.”

“I’ve spent three years searching for the Avatar, I will not let someone like Zhao take the credit!”

“Three years!?” you sputter, “how  _ old _ were you?”

“It doesn’t matter!” he roars, charging forward and knocking you to the ground. Your fans skittering across the forest floor as he grabs you by the shoulders, “it doesn’t...you can’t... _ SHUT UP!” _

You lay there frozen, too stunned to do anything more than blink. Staring wide eyed as Zuko looms above you, grip turning bruising as his fingers dig into your shoulder blades. The air is positively electric, copper on your tongue as if lightning was about to strike. Tension thick enough that you could cut it with a knife.

“Shut up…” he repeats, quieter this time. Your eyes unwittingly flick down to his lips, shooting back up as you shamefully realize what you’re doing. All too aware that you are fully pinned to the ground by the boy you’d sloppily made out with days before.

So is anyone surprised when history repeats itself?

It’s passionate, consuming; like a match being swallowed up by flame. Stealing the breath from your lungs as you scramble for purchase, dangling over the edge of a cliff and fighting not to fall. Lips to lips and teeth to tongue. Just two horny teens discovering what makes them tick, chasing sensation and gathering data like extremely questionable scientists.

Blood roaring in your ears, you trail your lips over his jaw and down to the hollow of his throat. Grazing his adam's apple with your teeth before licking a stripe up his neck, shoving fabric aside and working your way down to his collarbone.

“Fuck,” he groans, head tilted upwards as if in prayer. Hands skimming mindlessly down your sides as he clumsily maps out your body. Swiveling his hips downwards just like he’d done the night before.

You gasp, eyelids fluttering as electric warmth runs down your spine. Drawing your bottom lip between your teeth as he cups your groin over your clothes, breath coming short as he presses in with the heel of his palm.

“Spirits,  _ yes _ ,” you pant, bowing your head and tucking your face into his clavicle, “that’s…”

Emboldened by your words, he snakes his hand beneath your kimono and feels about. Flushing furiously as you reach down and redirect him from the crease of your thigh to your cunt, crooking his fingers and probing at the wetness there.

It’s something all right. Hot magma rolling through your veins as sparks go off beneath your skin. Breath stuttering in your chest as his fingers graze over something that makes your heart skip a beat.

“ _ Fuck,  _ do that again,” you hiss, giving him an incentive as you lave your tongue over his sweat slick skin. Salt on your tongue and ash in your throat.

He obeys eagerly, spurred on by the gasps and moans that you stifle into his skin. Toes curling in your boots as you arch off the ground, fight long forgotten as buzzing static overtakes your brain.

“Zuko,” you moan, the boy in question groaning at the use of his name, “ _ Zuko. _ ”

He circles his fingers, slipping a digit inside of you much to your abject delight. The drawn out moan you release almost embarrassing in the pindrop silence of the forest. Noting your reaction he adds another finger, and then another; stretching you open only to flex and unflex his fingers in an undulating wave of sensation.

“Fuck, that’s good,” you praise, digging your fingers into his skin, “don’t stop.” And he doesn’t. Coaxing you to the edge of orgasm and pushing you over with an artful crook of his fingers. Stone cold clarity crashing into you just as the bliss retreats.

Because this...this is worse than what you’d imagined. Sweaty and flushed and pinned beneath the  _ enemy.  _ The boy who just moments before was trying to hurt your  _ friend.  _ The boy who had no feelings for you, and you for him. With enough mutual hatred to fuel a small army and perhaps a city or two.

You were at  _ war. _

And he seems to have reached the same conclusion. Awkwardly pulling away and wiping his hand off on the ground, turning his head and avoiding your eye as he clenches and unclenches his jaw.

“We should--”

“Yeah.”

And that’s the end of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miànjù is supposed to mean 'mask' in Mandarin, but I may have gotten it completely wrong :/
> 
> Either way, thanks for reading!
> 
> ~L


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Smut
> 
> Feeling a bit iffy about this chapter, but I'm posting it anyways 
> 
> ~L

Things were quiet after that.

Well, as quiet as possible when it comes to the Avatar.

Fake-but-not-fake fortune tellers, exploding volcanoes, puppy love; it seems the excitement of being on the road has died down quite a bit. And as much as you love watching Aang make goo-goo eyes at Katara, it got boring fast as the waterbender remained oblivious.

So a trip to the market is just what you need to break up the monotony.

“Now  _ this  _ is what I’m talking about,” Sokka whistles, holding one of the dozen or so boomerangs aloft. Tracing his finger over the decorated curve and miming a throw, “Katara--”

“No,” she answers firmly, plucking the weapon from his hands and placing it back on the shelf. 

“But Katara--” he whines, interrupted once again as she lectures him on your quickly shrinking savings. Aang sliding in from the corner of the shop and emphatically agreeing with everything she has to say. He glances over to you and shamefully looks away, the conversation you’d had the other day undoubtedly ringing through his mind.

_ (“Listen, Aang,” you begin, pulling him aside after you’d reunited with the group, “I need to ask you something.” _

_ “Sure,” he grins, bouncing on his heels as his eyes flick over to Katara and back to you, “what is it?” _

_ You take in a breath, knowing that what you’re about to ask is both selfish and selfless at the exact same time. _

_ “If I--If I ever get captured, I want you guys to keep going.” _

_ That gets his attention. _

_ “What are you saying? We can’t just leave you behind, you’re our friend! You’re my friend!” he objects, eyes wide and pleading. _

_ “The fate of the world is far more important than me,” you explain, silencing Aang as he opens his mouth to protest, “you need to stop this war, you shouldn’t risk that on my account.” _

_ He stares down at his feet, mulling it over before he finally whispers. _

_ “Okay.”) _

“Hey Sokka,” you call out, drawing the group's attention to you. The water tribesman grinning hopefully as he expects you to take his side, “listen to Katara.”

“ _ Y/N _ ,” he says exasperatedly, “you’re the oldest!”

“And Katara’s the scariest,” you shrug, “I’m not getting on her bad side.”

The waterbender smiles gratefully, side eyeing Sokka as he not-so-subtly reaches for some other gaudy purchase. Aang slipping away and guiltily browsing over the wooden carvings, whistling innocently as Katara glances over at him.

“Y/N,” Katara turns to you, “since you seem to be the only  _ responsible _ person here,” she stares pointedly at Sokka, “why don’t you go out and buy the rest of the supplies?”

“Alright,” you agree, accepting the handful of coins she gives you, “I’ll meet you guys back here in twenty minutes.” Sokka flashes you a thumbs up, averting his eyes as Katara launches into another scathing lecture.

Giving him a sympathetic smile, you turn and head out the door. Stepping out onto the street and looking down the road, puzzling over why the place seems so...empty. The streets practically deserted from one end of the block to the other. 

On edge, you move to the middle of the road. Turning on your heel and startling as you see who’s standing behind you.

“Zuko,” you gawk, anticipation--both good and bad--churning in your gut as you stare the firebender down. Fingers curled around your fans as you wait for the unsteady peace to shatter.

“Y/N,” he echoes, eyes boring into yours as he glances over the abandoned storefronts, “it seems you’re alone.”

“Yeah,” you squeak, clearing your throat as you continue, “yeah. They sent me here to...to shop.”

“To shop.”

“Mhm,” you hum unconvincingly, “just me, shopping. Alone.” He narrows his eyes, gaze flicking over to the shop you’d just walked out of. Sidestepping you only for you to move in front of him, boldly placing a hand on his chest and stopping him in his tracks. 

And just like that, your mind draws a blank. The only thought running through your head being  _ protect protect protect. Keep your friends safe, stall for time, kiss-- _ **_no._ **

And in the chaos of your thoughts, the only thing you can say is, “you look tired.”

_ Shit. _

He blinks, taken aback by your bluntness. Seconds away from simply pushing you aside and storming into the shop.

“Like, when was the last time you slept?” you continue, relying on adrenaline to keep you talking. Hand still pressing into his chest as he remains frozen still, “you look dead on your feet, with your--” you gesture vaguely to the bags under his eyes. Making sure he can’t misinterpret the gesture for a slight at his scar. “--and I’m not one to judge, but you really should sleep more. It’s not good for you, and stuff.”

He glowers, surging forward only for you to push him back.

“And another thing,” you press onward, words flying out of your mouth before you can think them over, “I know there’s the whole ‘restore my honor’ thing going on, but is it really honorable to kidnap a twelve year old monk?”

“I--”

“I’m sure honor is super important in the fire nation, and there’s probably a whole class on the thing. But I’m  _ pretty  _ certain that being complicit in the death of a child is...questionable,” you shrug, digging your heels into the dirt as he tries to force you out of the way.

“We’re not talking about this,” he says firmly, “I...have to do this.”

“Do you?” you question, changing the subject as you notice the dangerous look in his eyes, “uh...speaking of not talking about things. Have you thought about what happened, Miànjù?”

“Quiet,” he hisses, glancing from side to side as if he were sharing a secret, “I didn’t betray--”

“I’m not talking about that,” you interrupt, mouth running before your brain can catch up and slam on the brakes, “I’m talking about what happened  _ after _ . In the forest.”

He freezes, cheeks tinted pink as memories surge up from the depths. Nostrils flaring and teeth gritted as he debates between punching you and...and something else.

But you never find out what he chooses, the door of the shop suddenly swinging open and the voices of your friends streaming out. Zuko eagerly perking up as he recognizes Aang’s voice among the fray.

Panic surging, you grab him by the shoulders and drag him into the closest alleyway. Pressing him up against the wall and scrambling for any semblance of a plan.

“What are you doing,” he growls, fighting against your hold, “let go of me,  _ now.” _

Time seems to slow down, your body enacting a plan before your brain can stop it. Running off instinct, logic, and a tiny nugget of selfish want that you’d pushed deep, deep down. Pressing yourself up against him, brushing your lips over his ear, and whispering, “you sure about that?” Voice pitched low as you pray to Tui and La and any other spirit you can think of that this works.

And maybe it does, considering how he goes rigid against you. Frozen still as a burning flush spreads across his face and colors his ears.

“Because what I think,” you drawl. Hating yourself for this insult of a plan, hating Zuko for responding to it, hating yourself  _ again _ for initiating it (for  _ enjoying _ it), “is that you want something. Have been wanting it since what happened in the forest.”

“No, I--I don’t,” he objects, voice wavering and unconvincing, “you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think I do,” you murmur, “so what is it that you want, Zuko? There’s no use hiding it.”

He keeps quiet, chest heaving as you slowly drop down to your knees. Your face serene as your mind races a mile a minute, debating the ethics of what is essentially a sacrificial blowjob on your part. Saving the world, one dick sucked at a time.

Slowly, oh so slowly, you rest a hand on his thigh. Gripping the muscle through the fabric as you rub your thumb in circles, like trying to soothe a skittish jackalope. Blinking up at him demurely as you lean back on the balls of your feet. His mouth is agape, fingers digging into the wall as he simultaneously arches into and retreats from your touch. Staring wide eyed as you reach up and shove aside the armor covering his legs. Loosening his belt and slipping your hand beneath the fabric of his pants.

“ _ Oh _ ,” he gasps as you grab ahold of his cock. The weight of it strange yet welcome in the palm of your hand. Warm and aching as you grip the base and slide your hand up, twisting your wrist as you explore. Brushing your thumb over the head as your fingers drag over the velvety underside. With careful motions, you pull down his trousers and take out his cock. Leaning forward and tentatively taking the head into your mouth, feeling the weight of it push down on your tongue as you adjust your jaw. Inexperienced yet eager as your friend’s wellbeing weighs down on your shoulders.

Because that’s all this is, right? A way to protect your friends, sacrificing your vow of chastity in exchange for a shaky truce. Definitely not some twisted, fucked up desire that has taken root in your very soul.

Obviously.

“ _ Agni,”  _ Zuko hisses, spine arching as he cranes his neck back. The column of his throat standing out like a marble pillar, throat working as he swallows. Muscles tense like iron cables beneath your fingertips, “that’s…”

His sentence peters off into silence, legs shaky as you take him further into your mouth. Fighting back your gag reflex as you wrap your fingers around the base of his cock, turning your wrist as your lips flutter over the length of his dick. Flicking your tongue and breathing out harshly through your nose as you bob your head. Spit running down your chin as you try and fail to look attractive.

Oh, what a picture you must make. On your knees for the enemy in a dark, sketchy alleyway. Your friends mere feet away from uncovering your dirty little secret, from catching you red-handed (red-mouthed?) in the act. The disappointment in their faces so clear in your minds eye.

So why does such an awful thought make your body sing?

“Y/N,” he gasps, grabbing at the back of your head and digging his fingers into your scalp, “ _ fuck, _ keep going.”

And you do. Pulling all the stops as you fumble your way through your first blowjob. Lips, tongue, and a little bit of teeth as you play him like a liuqin. Drawing him tight like a bowstring as you swallow him down even further, spurred on by his stifled groans and grunts of approval.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. I’m--” he chants, cut off by a guttural moan as he spills into your mouth without warning. Sending you into a coughing fit as you reel back and hack up a gross combination of spit and splooge. 

It seems swallowing is a lot harder than you’d imagined.

“Shit!” he exclaims, hastily adjusting his clothing and uncertainly hovering over you, “are you--”

“I’m fine,” you say dismissively, waving him off and wiping at your mouth with the back of your hand. Staring down at the ground as you try to get the taste off your tongue (you hate to admit that you kind of like it), “so, we’re even then.”

He turns his head, “I guess...”

“Good,” you nod, rising to your feet and awkwardly clapping a hand on his shoulder, “let’s never do this again.”

“I--yes,” he agrees, expression hardening as you return your hand to your side. Both relief and disappointment(?) welling in your chest as you finally reach a solid agreement.

“Well, try to take care of yourself, okay?” you request, your sudden softness surprising even you, “you have no chance of capturing Aang if you’re moments away from collapsing.”

He nods begrudgingly, eyes widening as he suddenly remembers something. Head whipping to the side as he peers out of the alleyway, “the Avatar!”

“Shit.”


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: burns, imprisonment
> 
> No smut, but a shit ton of foreshadowing and the set up for...well...more smut!

To make a long story short, you got away.

And then got away again. The embarrassing incident at the Abbey one you were more than ready to forget. What with Zuko arriving with an attractive bounty hunter at his side, the unwarranted flare of jealousy in your heart; and the awkwardness of being paralyzed atop a similarly frozen Zuko. 

But things remained strictly PG. And now, you’re watching Aang learn firebending from a treasonous fire nation admiral. The kid staring down at a _leaf_ of all things as it smolders with a barely visible flame.

And as much as he complains about the pointlessness of it all, you can recognize the importance of Jeong-Jeong’s teachings. Concentration, breath control; even as a non-bender you know these are indispensable tools. And despite it being useless, you find yourself paying rapt attention whenever they stop by for a lesson. Enraptured by Jeong-Jeong’s ramblings about the power of the sun and the breathing of the flames.

Because for some strange, indiscernible reason, you feel a...kinship, with fire. Which is ridiculous, considering your burning (ha) hatred of the fire nation and all that it stands for (including or discluding a certain prince? Argh, you don’t have the energy for this). 

So when Aang manages to summon a tiny ball of flame in his palm, you can’t ignore the flicker of jealousy(?) that ignites within you.

Along with a flicker of fear, considering how Jeong-Jeong is nowhere to be seen.

“Aang, be careful!” Katara warns, watching anxiously from the edge of the pond as Aang balances atop a rock. Losing his footing for a terrifying second as the flames spurt up with roaring vigor.

“Don’t worry, I got this,” he says assuredly, punching forward and shooting fire from his fists, “now _that’s_ firebending!”

“You’re going to hurt yourself!” she insists.

“Yeah. I hate to be a killjoy, but you really should stop,” you agree, taking a step back from shore as he juggles the flames from one hand to another, “go back to breathing, yaknow?”

He pouts, “but I’m sick of breathing! And besides, look at _this!”_ He spins on his heel and pushes out with his hands, projecting a ring of fire that spirals around him like a whirlpool.

All at once, everything seems to slow down. The flames rushing towards you before you can even blink, stumbling backwards as you flee from the blaze. Compared to you, Katara’s not nearly as lucky. Covering her face with her hands as she protects her newly reacquired necklace, the flames licking and burning mercilessly at her exposed palms.

“Shit!” you exclaim, dropping to your knees as she does the same. Trying to coax her hands away from her chest as she curls in on herself, sobbing weakly, “are you okay?”

_Of course not, idiot._

“Katara!” the flames dissipate with a wisp of smoke, Aang rushing to Katara’s side as shameful tears begin to well in his eyes, “I’m so sorry!”

With careful focus, you gently prod at Katara’s palm. Hissing in sympathy as she whimpers and pulls away, turning her head aside as she tries to hide her tears. “Careful, you’ll make it worse,” you say softly, gingerly holding her hands in place, “try to keep still, okay?”

She nods haltingly, eyes shut tight as Sokka turns the corner and rushes towards his weeping sister.

“Katara, what’s wrong?” he asks, kneeling down beside her and checking her hands. Eyes flicking from you to Aang as he tries to piece things together. Directing his ire to the only other bender around, “what’d you do!?”

“It was an accident!” Aang rushes to explain, uncertain as to how he can comfort Katara, “I was--Katara, I’m so--” He reaches out to touch her shoulder, sent flying back as Sokka pushes him away and pins him to the ground. Katara’s sobs quickening as the two of them begin to fight.

“I told you not to mess around with this!” Sokka stresses, pressing his shoulders into the dirt, “look what you did, you burned my sister!”

A flash of pity strikes through your heart as Aang hunches in on himself, eyes downcast and shimmering with unbearable guilt. Silently, you rise to your feet and pull Katara up alongside you. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders and guiding her away from the chaos.

“Let’s go,” you murmur, leaving the boys to their bickering as you lead her down the path and out of view. Walking up to the water’s edge and lowering her to the ground, “put your hands in, it’ll feel better.”

Shakily, she complies. Breath catching as all of a sudden, a glowing, blue light enshrouds her hands. Raising them out of the water and watching enrapturedly as the blistering burns just...drip away.

“How--”

“You have healing abilities,” Jeong-Jeong marvels, appearing suddenly behind you and settling in beside Katara, “the great benders of the water tribes sometimes have this talent.” He bows his head and glances to the side, “I’ve always wished I were blessed like you, free from this burning curse.”

“But you’re a great master,” Katara objects, turning to look at him, “you have powers I’ll never know.”

“And I’ll never have,” you second.

“Water brings healing and life,” he explains, legs crossed neatly as he looks out over the river, “but fire only brings destruction and pain. It forces those of us burdened with its care to walk a razors edge between humanity and savagery. Eventually, we’re torn apart.”

_Yikes..._

But before the weight of his words can fully sink in, vicious fire blasts fly in from down the river. Jeong-Jeong barely managing to block the flames before you and Katara are burnt to a crisp. Helplessly, you watch as three hulking metal ships cut through the water. Smog trailing behind as they pull up onto shore, the fire nation emblem stamped into the plating.

Zhao.

“Go get your friends and flee!” Jeong-Jeong orders, waving the two of you off and forcing you to leave, “Do not come back here or you will all be destroyed, hurry!”

Protectiveness surging within you, you grab Katara’s arm and usher her along. Meeting back up with your friends and rousing a disillusioned Aang to battle, the rest of you hanging back on Appa as he moves to challenge the admiral. Things seem hopeless at first, what with Jeong-Jeong disappearing into thin air and the sheer size of Zhao’s fleet. But Aang, clever as he is, plays off Zhao’s savagery and pride. Taunting and teasing with the expertise of a twelve year old boy, tricking Zhao into destroying his own armada without throwing a single punch.

“Jeong-Jeong said you had no restraint,” the kid grins, bounding away and rushing towards Appa. Leaving Zhao to lick his wounds in defeat.

You should’ve known he wouldn’t take it lying down.

With a bellowing roar of frustration, Zhao calls the flames forward and sends them barreling towards Aang. The kid completely oblivious to the danger nipping at his heels.

“Aang, watch out!” you shout, leaping off Appa and tackling him to the ground. Flames passing harmlessly overhead as you flatten yourselves to the floor, throwing Aang towards Appa and urging him forwards, “go, go, go!”

Adrenaline pumping through your veins, you throw yourself towards Appa. Grabbing at the bison’s side as he begins to lift off the ground, eyes widening as a hand locks around your ankle and pulls you off. Plummeting to the ground and watching as your friends shocked faces grow farther and farther away.

With a shout of your name, your friends turn back around and charge forwards. Appa barely managing to dodge a volley of flaming attacks as Zhao’s soldiers shift into formation, preparing to launch another devastating offensive.

“Wait!” you cry out, squirming in Zhao’s hold as you try to break free, “Aang, remember your promise!”

And with that, Aang seems to _shatter_. Gripping Appa’s reins as he teeters between two difficult choices, staring at you pleadingly as he tries to make a decision.

“Go!”

And he does.

* * * *

Being captured fucking sucks.

It’s boring, humiliating; and downright terrifying whenever you stop and think about it. The chains around your wrists and the cuffs on your ankles a painful reminder of your dire situation. Cooped up in your cell with barely a wink of light passing through the crack in the doorframe.

So being out in the sun, even if you’re just moving from one boat to another, is a much needed reprieve from the terror.

The fire nation docks are a bustling hive of activity. Soldiers and merchants mingling in the crowd as they go about their business, armor rustling and footsteps thudding in a chaotic orchestra of sound. Whispers winding through the crowd as you’re ushered along, eyes narrowing as they notice your unique dress and the chains wrapped around your wrists.

Foreign, different:

_Enemy._

“Admiral Zhao,” someone calls from behind you, Zhao turning on his heel and forcing you to do the same. Coming face to face with an old, stout man. Clothed in traditional fire nation attire with his long, grey hair pulled back into a top knot. A well groomed beard covering his jaw and chin as he gives the admiral a tight smile, turning to you as his grin softens around the edges, “it seems you have a guest.”

“General Iroh,” he bows, realization dawning as you recognize the man as Zuko’s companion, “I assure you, this is no _guest,_ ” he shakes your chains for emphasis, “but merely a prisoner. She has important information regarding the Avatar, and I intend to get it.” You glare down at your feet, refusing to look at the general as Zhao talks about you as if you aren’t even there. Going into painful detail on what he plans to do to you once he has the means.

But before Iroh can respond, there’s a drumming of footsteps on the gangplank. Glancing up in shock as you hear a far-too familiar voice address the man.

“Uncle, what’s taking so long--” Zuko pauses mid-sentence, steps faltering as he tries to brush off his surprise. Eyes sweeping over you and narrowing in on the chains circling your wrists.

“Oh, Zhao was just telling me about his plans for his prisoner,” Iroh explains, the two of them having a conversation with mere eye contact alone before he turns back to the admiral, “though it seems a heavy burden for someone of your importance, Zhao. Don’t you think interrogation is rather below your station?”

“Well, I--” Zhao stumbles.

“The stresses of capturing the Avatar is not good for one's health, especially while dealing with an uncooperative prisoner,” Iroh continues, “I would be more than willing to take her off your hands, if you are so inclined.” Zhao sputters a bit, tightening his grip on your chains only for his fingers to go lax. Iroh swooping in and leading him away before he changes his mind, “come, Zuko can watch her while we talk things over.”

The two of them walk further down the dock, Zuko snatching up your chains and tugging you away from the crowds. Looking you up and down before grabbing you by the shoulder.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he hisses, shaking you a little as he glances around like a child breaking the rules, “what’re you even doing?”

“Got bored, so I decided to meet up with you,” you deadpan.

“You got caught just to see me?” he balks, right eye twitching as his gaze narrows.

You scoff, “of course not, I got sloppy and Zhao captured me. Why, you thought I was serious?”

“No,” he grumbles, expression softening as he catches sight of Iroh in the distance, “anyways, you don’t have to worry. Uncle can be very convincing if he wants to be. I’ll--He’ll keep you safe from Zhao.”

Maybe it’s stupid, but you can’t help but believe him.

“Thank the Spirits,” you sigh, “I’d take anyone over that bastard.” Imperceptibly, his lip twitches up into a half smile. Smoothing back down into neutrality as Iroh and Zhao return. Panic striking through you only to dissipate upon seeing Iroh’s subtly victorious expression.

“It…” Zhao pauses. Glaring at you, then Zuko, before training his gaze just over your shoulder, “it would be in my best interest to turn you over to General Iroh’s crew.”

“ _My_ crew,” Zuko mumbles indignantly, clenching his fists as Zhao turns his gaze on him.

“I’m certain that Zuko will be able to yield results,” Zhao remarks, inspecting his fingernails before returning his hand to his side, “especially since Fire Lord Ozai would loathe hearing news of _another_ failure.”

Zuko stiffens. His uncle laying a hand on his shoulder and guiding both him, and you, up the gangplank and onto the deck. The prince grabbing your chains and blindly leading you down into the brig, forcing you into your cell and closing the door without saying so much as a word.

And as you settle into the corner, you can’t help but wonder if this was the right choice.


	7. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: imprisonment, smut, unprotected sex

Wrong choice, wrong choice, wrong choice.

“Just tell me where the Avatar’s going! That’s easy enough, isn’t it?” Zuko demands, all up in your face as you sit disinterestedly in the corner of your cell. Though the door is closed, the barred window near the top is open. Lamplight streaming through and dappling the metal walls, reflecting off of the plating and scattering light across the room like stars.

“Not gonna happen,” you retort, biting back a grin as his nostrils flare and teeth grind.

Despite saving you from an arguably worse fate, you and Zuko were still at each other's throats. Fighting and cursing despite the drastic power shift between the two of you. And while you may be terrified as to what lies ahead, for both you and your friends;

There’s no way you’d ever let him win.

“You’re my prisoner, you don’t have a choice!” he shouts. Fire sparking between his teeth as he glares, temperatures rising as if you were in a sauna.

“Oh yeah? Make me,” you challenge, standing your ground even as his hands are wreathed in fire. The flames sputtering out with a cough of smoke, something like shame shadowing his expression as he glances away, “thought so.”

Incensed, he whirls around and grabs you by the collar. Hoisting you off the ground with a forceful tug and slamming you into the wall. Chains rattling in the weighted silence of the room, no sounds except your labored breaths as you wait for something to happen.

“No matter the cost, I _will_ capture the Avatar and regain my honor,” he vows darkly, clutching at your kimono until his knuckles turn white, “and I won’t let anyone get in my way. Especially a pathetic, shameless, bleeding heart non-bender like _you_.”

Stunned silent, he drops you unceremoniously to the floor. Staring expectantly as he waits for you to give Aang up just like that.

Holding eye contact, you slowly, slowly, pivot around and face the wall. Drawing your knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms around them, staring straight ahead as you feel his gaze burn into your back.

“Fine! Have it your way,” he seethes, turning on his heel and storming out of the room. Shouting something over his shoulder before he slams the window closed as well, “I should’ve left you with Zhao!”

And your cell is dark once more.

* * * *

Time is strange in the void of your cell. Marked only by the daily delivery of your meals and the intermittent drumbeat of passing footsteps. But based on what little you keep track of, it’s been over a day since someone’s come to visit.

Seems it’s time to break that streak.

A swish of metal, and the window is open. Light streaming past the bars and blinding you with its sudden glare. Squinting in the light, you shield your sensitive eyes as you struggle to discern who’s disturbed your shaky peace. Finding a familiar, friendly face on the other side of the door.

“General Iroh,” you nod, sitting against the far wall as you stare into the kind eyes of the general.

“Please, call me Iroh,” he insists, “I haven’t been a general in a long, long time.” He stares off wistfully, shaking himself and giving you a warm grin, “oh, but enough about me. After all, I haven’t even gotten your name yet! And what kind of host—er—warden would I be without it?”

He may be fire nation, but you can’t help but trust him. So, without reservation, you give him your name, “Y/N Y/L/N.”

But strangely, upon hearing it, a flash of recognition seems to pass over his face. And sure, he may have heard about you from Zuko (ugh, you don’t want to think about how _that_ conversation went). He somehow seems...startled. Caught off guard as if your name is... _familiar_ , to him.

But in a blink of an eye, the feeling’s gone. As if it weren’t even there to begin with.

“Y/N. A strong name for a strong woman,” he says genuinely, continuing onwards as if nothing had happened.

“Thank you,” you say softly, “and...thank you, again. For saving me from Zhao. You didn’t have to, but you did.”

He bows his head as if in shame, “a cage is still a cage, no matter the embellishments.”

“Well, I still like this cage a lot better,” you joke halfheartedly, trying to lighten the mood. 

He smiles ever-so slightly, looking to the side and letting the grin slip off his face, “I hear my nephew has not been kind to you. It is foolish of him to believe one would betray their friends so easily.” You stare down at your chained wrists, the charm of your necklace weighing down on your collarbone like a boulder, “I’ll make sure to talk to him.”

“You don’t have to--”

He holds up a hand, “I do.” He moves to close the window, pausing for a moment to say one last thing, “and for what it’s worth, I apologize for all that’s been done to you.”

You don’t say anything in response, and you’re once again plunged into the darkness.

* * * *

This is weird. Weird for many, many reasons. Though you’ve slimmed it down to three just to make sense of things.

One, you’re eating actual food. Or at least, food that is even remotely edible. Fish and rice, so simple yet absolutely delectable when compared to what else you’ve been eating. A five star meal in comparison to the broth and gristle combo you’ve grown so accustomed to. And sure, eating from the bowl is rather challenging. Balancing it on your knee as you struggle to work your chopsticks, wrists and ankles chained to one another even as you eat. But it’s worth it for the veritable explosion of flavors on your tongue and the full feeling in your stomach.

Two, you’re no longer in your cell. Instead, you’re in someone’s quarters. It’s plain, sparsely decorated with barely any furniture to speak of. But it’s...cozy, you suppose. A meditation table and stool set at one end, and a shikibuton in the other. A woven mat on the ground and the fire nation insignia embroidered into hanging tapestries. Harsh, red light floods the room. With a surprisingly warm edge that illuminates everything in a ghostly crimson glow.

Three, you’re actually in Zuko’s room.

Subset of three, Zuko is in it.

It is irrevocably, undeniably weird. A sudden shift that is no doubt cause for suspicion, considering the way he’s hovering over you as you eat. Watching you as if he expects a switch to flip at any second. Arms crossed over his chest as he looms over you like a buzzard.

He distractedly taps a finger against his bicep, managing to lean in even closer as he asks, “is it good?” Tone stiff and awkwardly flat.

“I guess…?” you say questioningly, moving the last few grains around the bottom of the bowl. Chainlinks clinking against each other as you shift uncomfortably in your chair.

“Do you want more?” he offers, an edge of uncertainty to his voice as the tapping grows louder

“No…” you answer, wondering what he’s playing at with this sudden kindness, “did Iroh put you up to this?”

He looks away, brows furrowed as he stares at the wall with interest. The tapping almost a constant buzz as he refuses to meet your eye.

_I take that as a yes…_

“He thought I was...too harsh,” he explains choppily, still avoiding your eye, “so this is the compromise.”

“And what is _this?”_ you question, setting the bowl aside and folding your hands in your lap. Looking at him expectantly with a slight quirk of your brow, “bribery?”

“Well...kind of,” he admits with a shrug, “it’s just...I should get to know you before trying to get information out of you.”

“Iroh said that.”

“...Yeah.”

“Alright,” you shrug, crossing your legs and folding your arms. Leaning back as if you had all the cards in hand, even if said hands were bound, “I’ll go along with it, but only because I’m bored.” His right eye twitches minutely, but other than that, he doesn’t react. Eyes sliding over to meet yours as the silence presses in like a tangible thing, “are you...aren’t you going to ask questions, or something?”

“Oh,” he blinks, the tapping unconsciously starting up again, “I just thought you’d...talk.”

“I mean...sure,” you relent. Caught off guard by the pubescent awkwardness of the whole situation. Worrying your lower lip between your teeth as you try to decide upon an inoffensive, surface level thing to talk about. No war, no questionable parenting, no hookups. _Nothing._

“Well, uh, you know my name already. Though not my last name, I think. Which is Y/L/N,” you begin shakily, uncomfortable with the seemingly unbreakable tension between the two of you, “my best friend is Suki, from Kyoshi Island. But don’t tell Aang that. Not that you would, since... _”_ you cut yourself off before things get awkward, “ _anyway_ , I’ve been training in combat basically my entire life. And I have, and will, kick your ass into the next century.” A beat passes, the two of you staring at one another as Zuko mulls over your thinly veiled threat, “so, what about you?”

“What?”

“If we’re gonna ‘bond’--” you make air quotes with your fingers “--then you should say something about yourself, too.”

He’s reluctant, you can tell that immediately. Eyes narrowed and teeth gritted as he debates between refusing and giving in. His decision clear as his shoulders slump and he lets out a heavy sigh, dragging his hand down his face before relenting.

“My name is Zuko,” he introduces stiffly, making sure you know just how much he hates this, “I’m a firebender, trained by Piandao in the art of swordsmanship--”

“Wait, Piandao?” you interrupt, “like, _the_ Piandao?”

“Yes,” he says nonchalantly, “you’ve heard of him?”

Heard of him? _Heard of him!?_ Every self respecting warrior has heard of the legendary fighter Piandao. Gawked over his single handed defeat of a hundred soldiers, whispered about his desertion from the fire nation army, and seethed over his unachievable mastery of the blade.

And Zuko has the gall to ask if you’ve _heard of him!?_

“Of course,” you answer coolly, screaming inside as you try to play it off. Eyes sliding to the right and noticing the dual broadswords mounted on the wall. Recognizing the blades from Zuko’s brief stint as Miànjù, “and as much as I hate to admit it, it shows. You’re skilled, Zuko.”

An almost unnoticeable blush colors his skin, “flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Will it get me out of these chains?” you smirk, shaking your bound wrists for emphasis. His expression souring as his face pinches in disagreement, “c’mon, what can I even do? You’re here, I have your whole crew to fight, and plus, we’re in the middle of the ocean. The odds are stacked against me, I know when I’m outmatched.”

Lies. Despite the impossibility, you are still going to try.

Not that he needs to know that.

Hesitantly, he pulls out a key and moves to unlock your bindings. Chains pooling at your feet as he releases your wrists and ankles, caught off guard as you charge forward and knock him aside. Your escape attempt cut short as he quickly slams you onto the bed mat, pinning you down and glaring at you from above.

“Hey, I had to try,” you grin, taking explicit pleasure in the way he fumes at your words. A hot flush spreading down his neck as you peer up at him, the position reminding you of all the times you’d been together before...and your body reacting as such.

“We’re not...this isn’t…” he scrambles, watching your reaction with wide eyes. Frozen in place as he fumbles to explain why he’s reacting the same, “we’re done, you know that.”

“I do,” you whisper, “and we really...we really shouldn’t. It’s not right.”

Silence. Pressing, boiling hot silence that closes in on the two of you like a curtain of steam. Heady and consuming like a floral perfume with a bite of spice. It’s an addiction at this point, really. An addiction to skin and sweat and movement. Rough calluses and muscled flesh that presses against you so perfectly. So should you keep your morals, or give into temptation once more?

It seems you both end up drawing the same conclusion.

“Fuck it,” you murmur, craning your neck and pressing your lips to his in a kiss which is eagerly reciprocated, “for now, I don’t care about ‘right.’”

He hums in agreement, hard and aching as he presses against you with burning need. Scrambling with the edges of your kimono and rucking the fabric up past your hips, shimmying it over your head and leaving you in only your undergarments.

“I still--oh--hate you, by the way,” you stress, arching up into his touch as his hands skip down your chest. Trailing his fingertips over the swell of your breasts with wide eyed fascination, pupils blown and lips glossy.

“The feeling’s mutual,” he says dryly, voice failing him as it cracks on the final syllable. Betraying his lust as he works to untie your bra, fingers clumsy and uncoordinated as he clutches at the fabric. Fed up with waiting, you shove his hands aside and do it yourself. Tossing the material away and letting your breasts spill out and prickle with gooseflesh. Nipples hard as they point up towards the ceiling, “oh.”

With perverted fascination, he reaches out and palms at your breasts. Thumbing your nipples and starting as you let out an unexpected moan. Clenching your jaw as you hiss through your teeth, biting your tongue as he repeats the motion.

And as much as you’re enjoying the touching, it’s time to even the playing field.

Rising up to your knees, you grip his shoulders and pull him in for another kiss. Grasping at the bottom of his shirt and tugging it off before he can get a word in otherwise. Hungrily, you splay a hand across his chest and admire the view. Lower lip drawn between your teeth as your fingers dance down his defined stomach and tug at his waistband. Grinning excitedly as he scrambles to kick off the obstructing layer, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. Erection straining against the fabric as you reach out and cup his groin.

“You wanna…” you pant, desperation clouding your mind as good as any drug, “wanna put it inside me?”

“Uh,” his voice wavers, brain short circuiting as the heel of your palm presses against his covered cock, “yes. Spirits, _yes._ ”

Nerves sparking like firecrackers, you follow your gut and sprawl yourself out on your back. Tugging off your panties as you prop yourself up on your elbows, watching expectantly as Zuko does…

Nothing.

“Have you done this before?”

“Yes!” Zuko objects, wilting ever-so-slightly as he admits, “well...no.”

“Me neither,” you reassure, beckoning him forward, “c’mon, it can’t be that difficult. I’ll help you.”

He mumbles something about not needing help, pulling off his boxers and settling between your legs. Spreading your thighs and carefully guiding himself inside you, the sudden stretch making you gasp. It’s a new feeling, that’s for sure. Not enjoyable but not unpleasant, not painful but not without its own aches.

But then, he begins to move. Choppy, harsh movements that send shooting pains through your gut.

“Ow, ow ow,” you chant, grabbing his shoulder and digging your fingernails into his back, “slow down!”

“Sorry,” he winces, slowing his thrusts and easing himself in and out of you. The pain subsiding and replacing itself with a slow, tingling warmth. Not pleasure, but the foundation upon which it can build, “like that?”

“Yeah, just…” your breath catches as his cock rubs against your clit, electricity sparking beneath your skin as you shudder, “oh fuck, keep going.” Emboldened, he quickens his thrusts. Deterred by you thumping your hand against his chest, “ow! Not faster, same pace. Same pace!”

Another apology, and he slows down once again. Diligently keeping pace as you shiver and gasp beneath him, snaking a hand between you and clumsily circling your clit with his thumb. Making up for inexperience with enthusiasm.

Feeling left out, you wrap your arms around his neck and cup the base of his skull. Planting wet, open-mouthed kisses along the sharp line of his jaw. Lips pressed against his pulsepoint as it jumps, swiping your tongue up his neck before drawing his right earlobe between your teeth. Wetting it with your tongue before burying your face in his collarbone. Breathing in the scent of sweat, woodsmoke, and a bite of something sharp.

“Fuck,” Zuko curses, throwing his head back as he drives into you, “ _Y/N.”_

“Zuko,” you echo, pleasure coiling in your gut like a tightly wound spring. Toes curling as your body aches for more, “harder.”

“Are you sure?”

“ _Yes!”_ you practically shout, “just _fuck_ me, for Spirits sake.”

You don’t have to tell him twice. The firebender eagerly picking up the pace and driving into you with passionate fervor, his touch burning hot as his hips press flush against yours. Bottoming out with a gasp that draws a litany of moans from you. Fire rushing through your veins as the spring in your gut tightens and tightens and tightens, ready to snap.

But it seems Zuko’s going to break first, shoulders heaving with labored breaths as his cock twitches inside of you. Panic cutting through the haze of pleasure as you feel him stiffen in preparation.

“Pull out, pull out!” you shout in warning. Zuko reeling back and slipping out of you before it's too late, pumping his cock and spilling all over your stomach with a shout. Rubbing your clit and coaxing you to the edge with a few lucky strokes, “oh _fuck_.”

It’s quiet after, no sounds except your panting breaths and the rustle of sheets. The two of you a sweaty mess as you sprawl out on the bed, deliberately not touching as you try to regain your bearings. Praying that maybe, just maybe, something had changed.

“Clean yourself up, I’ll escort you back to your cell.”

Nevermind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember kids, wrap it before you tap it


	8. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: rough smut, bondage(?)

You miss your friends.

There’s so much you’d taken for granted. Little things that you’d ignored or dismissed because you’d deemed them unimportant. Katara’s mothering, Aang’s childish antics, Sokka’s jokes; you‘d relied on them so heavily, and now they’re gone. 

It’s so...quiet, without them. To the point that it’s hard to sleep. You’d grown used to the constant buzz of noise. To Katara’s teeth grinding and Sokka’s snoring, Aang’s sleep talk and Appa’s rumbling bellows. And now, their absence is like a gaping hole in your chest. Like losing a leg when you’ve just learned how to walk.

Zuko makes a poor replacement.

Well, that’s not exactly fair to him. He’s...trying, you can give him that. Trying to be friendly, or at least as much as your situation allows. You’d appreciate it more if he wasn’t gaining your trust just to betray it. But company is company, and at least said company is bringing you food.

And that’s what you’re doing now. Shovelling noodles into your mouth as broth drips grossly down your chin. Crouched in the corner of your cell as Zuko stands opposite you, arms crossed over his chest as he glares down at you for the third day in a row. You’ve been talking civilly over the past few days. But with both no sex and no answers, you can tell he’s reaching his limit.

So it’s no surprise things come to a head while you’re stuffing your mouth full.

“I’m tired of waiting,” Zuko snaps, snatching away the bowl just as you slurp up the last of the noodles, “tell me where the Avatar is going, _now.”_

You screw up your face in thoughtful contemplation. Contorting your bound wrists in order to quizzically stroke your chin, stalling needlessly as you eventually quip, “no.”

That’s the straw that broke the camelephant’s back. His brows knitting together and face twisting as the temperature knocks up a few degrees. Shoulders tensing as he tightens his fists and grits his teeth, grabbing hold of your arm and roughly tugging you to your feet. Forcing you out of the room and dragging you along as he storms into his quarters. With a forceful shove, he pushes you down onto the bed mat and pins you in a definitively non-sexy way. Bracketing you in with his legs as he shoves your face into the sheets, settling on your back and pinioning your wrists above your head.

“Someone’s mad,” you observe placidly, wincing as his knee digs into your side.

“Shut up,” he orders, “tell me where the Avatar is or I’ll...I’ll…”

“You’ll what?” you grin wickedly, smile hidden in the blankets as you turn your cheek. Blinking up at him with faux innocence as you simper, “hurt my precious feewings?”

He tenses as if he’s about to strike you, a familiar flicker of shame shadowing his face as he relaxes his fists. Bowing his head as he realizes you’re at a stalemate. You won’t give Aang up, and he won’t abandon his quest.

So when his eyes darken and lips twitch up, you feel your stomach twist with unease.

“No,” he says darkly, pressing you further into the bedsheets as he leans down and whispers into your ear, “but I know just how to get you to talk.”

Well shit.

You hate the way your body responds. Lighting up like fire catching on tinder, flaring with a tingling, burning heat that spreads from your head to your toes. He releases your ankle restraints, unspooling the chains and setting them aside with a strange sort of tenderness. Chuckling in amusement as you shake your wrists in a pathetic plea, shifting backwards so he’s positioned between your legs.

“We’re keeping those on,” he drawls, hooking his fingers under your hips and lifting them up. Sending you pitching forward as you dig the heel of your palm into the mat, propping yourself up on your elbows as you rise to your knees. “I’m gonna...uh...uh,” he falters, suddenly face to face with the fact that he doesn’t know what he’s doing.

You sigh, taking pity on him as you notice his adorably lost expression. “Hey,” you stage whisper, turning your head so you can meet his eyes, “need some help?”

He scowls, gripping your hips as he puzzles over what exactly he’s going to do next. Grinding his teeth as he watches you contort your arms and arch your back, reaching down and slipping off your panties with a flexible twist. Bared to him, you quirk your brow. Shimmying your hips as you shift forward into your previous position.

“Am I just going to sit here or what?” you taunt, smirking as you finally set him over the edge.

An honest to Spirits _growl_ rumbles through his chest as he lunges forward. Grasping the back of your neck as he smushes your cheek into the blankets. Squeezing once in warning before pulling back and carelessly rucking up your kimono, ignoring your squawk of protest as the silk threatens to tear. A breath of hesitation, and he swipes his fingers over your cunt. Fingers dipping between your lips as the pad of his thumb grazes your clit.

“Fuck,” you hiss, catching your lower lip between your teeth as you shiver, “you’re learning.”

He doesn’t answer, the sudden swipe of his tongue over your pussy making you curse like a sailor who’d stubbed their toe. It’s clumsy and uncertain, but the wet drag of his tongue is distraction enough. Hot and trembling in a way that makes your knees weak. A steady build up of pressure that coils low in your gut.

Which is why it’s so disappointing when he fails to elicit the same reaction. Swiping his tongue up and down as he tries to get a feel for things. Too firm and yet not firm enough as he throws himself into eating you out. It’s endearing, in a rather lewd way. The amount of effort he’s putting into it.

But then he finds that one spot, and you fall apart.

You’re a sand castle crumbling to pieces under his hands. Shattering beneath the crest of a wave of pure, electric pleasure. Gasping and keening as you grip the sheets, twisting the fabric between your fingers as you moan. Shaking like a leaf as you inch closer and closer to orgasm.

And then he pulls away.

“Oh you _asshole_ ,” you hiss, legs turned to jelly as you slump forward onto the mat. Pussy clenching around nothing as your clit throbs with neglect, “you’ve gotta be kidding me."

He hums smugly, flipping you onto your back and settling his weight atop yours. Leering at you from above with a downright dirty expression on his face. Eyes dark and predatorial as gold glimmers around the edge of his dilated pupils. “Here’s the deal,” he says lowly, “you tell me where the Avatar is going, and we can...uh... _continue._ ”

Oh _fuck_ no. You’re not selling out your friends for _dick._

...but it is a pretty good dick…

No! You won’t even entertain the idea of doing such a thing. Your refusal more than clear as you glare up at Zuko from under him. Jaw set and eyes narrowed as you ignore how your clit begs for attention.

But then, inspiration strikes. And you know just what to do next.

“So, what do you--” his sentence cuts off with a gasp, muscles tensing as you unexpectedly grind against him. Rolling your hips upwards as his cock swells beneath the fabric of his trousers. Standing at attention as you try to coax him into giving in, “ _fuck_.”

“Mhm,” you intone. Wrists aching as you pull against your restraints, back arching off the bed as your body draws tight like a bowstring. “C’mon, Zuko. You want it as bad as I do,” you croon, taking note of the way his jaw ticks and sweat drips down his brow. Desperation coloring his every move as his skin burns like a pot over flame.

He breaks with an angered shout. Tugging down his pants and letting them hang at his ankles as he whips out his dick. Slamming inside you so suddenly it’s a miracle you don’t scream, a flash of pain quickly giving way to burning pleasure. Eyes rolling back, he hikes up your legs and hooks them over his shoulders. The position allowing him to plow even deeper inside you, touching places you’ve never been able to reach with your own fingers.

Your legs ache and your back hurts, wrists chafed and insides roiling with a mix of pain and pleasure. A delicious bite of agony shooting through your gut with every thrust. You have half a mind to throw him off you, the sensations far too overwhelming for you to handle. The stretch painful beyond belief whilst his fingers on your clit dulls the agony.

But after what feels like a mere minute, he pulls out. Spilling into his own hand as he leaves you wrecked and wanting. Eyes narrowed into slits as you’re too exhausted to keep them open. Barely aware of anything beside the pulsing ache between your thighs.

“I’m not getting you off unless you tell me where the Avatar is,” Zuko says with an air of finality, pulling up his pants only to notice your less than ideal condition. “Y/N,” he calls, voice strangely...concerned(?) Shaking you slightly as he lays you out on the bed, “are you okay?”

You crack an eyelid open, perturbed by the uncharacteristic look of worry on his face, “sure. I only _feel_ like I’ve been trampled by a komodo rhino.”

He snorts, glancing away as he mulls something over. “You...you can sleep here tonight,” he says gruffly, off put by the look in your eyes, “but just because I’m not about to carry you to your cell!” 

You hum your assent. Too tired to do anything more than simply close your eyes.

And just as the darkness closes in, you feel a weight settle in beside you. Blankets pulled up to your chin as the lights die down to a soft, orange glow.

You sleep well for the first time in days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friendly reminder that these two don't completely understand sex (yet)! These are unsafe sex practices y'all! Don't do this!
> 
> Anyways, thanks for reading :D


	9. Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: nightmares, explosions, really shitty metaphors

You wake to an elbow in your side and fire in your face.

It’s a terrifying rush of heat, all the lanterns in the room flaring up with sudden intensity. Zero to one hundred as the room is awashed in a bloody crimson hue, colors dulling to a deep red as the flames sap the pigmentation. You panic, understandably. Kicking off the sheets and lurching upwards as sweat prickles your brow. Head whipping about as your gaze eventually narrows in on the cause of this whole mess.

Zuko. Curled on his side and hunched in on himself. Shoulders shaking as he clutches at the left side of his face, dead asleep even as the flames spurt ever higher. The air almost oppressive as it weighs down on you like a cloud of smog.

Hindered by the chains binding your wrists, you reach forward and shake his shoulder. Sent reeling back as the flames shoot up and the firebender flinches as if you’d threatened to hit him. The heat impossible to contain as it grows more and more unbearable.

“Stop it!” you whisper-shout, glaring at the lanterns and waving your hand as if that would help.

And through some inexplicable turn of events, it does. The flames dying down for a split second before roaring back to life. Embers crackling with a bit less _oomph_ than before.

But that stroke of luck isn’t going to last you long. So you reach out your hand and curl your fingers around his shoulder. More mindful this time as you gently coax him back to wakefulness.

“Zuko, wake up,” you implore, “if you cook us alive I’ll never forgive you.”

He comes to with a start. Eerily silent as he rolls onto his back and stares rigidly up at you. Blinking once, twice, before realizing his own vulnerability and startling upwards. A scowl on his face as he tries to mask the flicker of fear in his eyes. You stretch out your hand towards him, words of comfort on your tongue as you move to do...something. Touch his shoulder? His cheek?

Regardless, you never get to find out. The prince throwing himself away from you in sheer, heart-wrenching terror the moment your fingers get close. You freeze, mentally berating yourself for your boldness. Realizing how stupid it was to approach him in such a state, especially from his left.

So, desperate to break the tension, you say the first thing that comes to mind.

“How much can you see out of that eye?”

It’s a ridiculously stupid thing to say, a stupid question with even stupider timing. And yet...it kinda works. Grounding him to reality as he thinks to answer your question.

“Enough,” he answers shortly, confirming your suspicions as he faces you warily. Having just admitted one of his greatest weaknesses to the enemy. Slowly, painfully slowly, you reach out and cup the left side of his face in your palm. Fingers brushing over the wrinkled edge of his scar as you stare unflinchingly into his eyes. It’s a fragile moment. Tainted by the quiet voice in your head yelling for you to escape, to knock him down while he’s weak and flee.

But you won’t, you refuse. Because despite all your slights on the concept of honor, you know this would be the most dishonorable thing to do. To take that tentative trust and shatter it against the floor like a china plate. Snuffing out the candle before it can have a chance to grow strong.

(Besides, your chances of succeeding in escape are disproportionately thin).

So you curl your fingers around his jaw and stroke the pad of your thumb over his cheek. Soft and quiet as his breathing slowly evens out, eyes mellow and warm like gentle firelight.

“You don’t have to pretend,” he says gruffly, not breaking eye contact as he speaks, “don’t have to pretend to care.”

“And what if I do?” you quirk an eyebrow. The moment soft around the edges like ink bleeding into paper, “I’m not _completely_ heartless.”

He huffs out a breath, air tickling your wrist as he turns his cheek aside. Pulling away from your grasp and ducking his head, “I know it’s...it’s not pretty to look at.”

You hum softly, gripping his jaw and turning his chin to face you. “What, your scar?” he doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t have to, “I, for one, think it’s very handsome.”

“It’s ugly,” he objects. The unspoken _I’m ugly_ weighing heavy in the air.

You hum once again, tone laden with understanding as you meet his eye, “no, it shows you're strong. That you’re a survivor.” 

Where’d this mushiness come from? This satin-soft reassurance that drips like honey from your lips. Sugary sweet incense that clogs up your lungs and streams from your throat, painful yet relieving as it falls off your tongue. There’s guilt and shame tumbling about in your skull, counteracted by an overwhelming need to comfort and hold. To clutch him close and stay in your own little bubble. The bubble where there’s no war, no fighting. Just the two of you messing around like normal teenagers. 

Albeit teenagers who hate each other.

Though there seems to be an underlying current of...respect, perhaps? Understanding? A sense of knowing as the two of you navigate a sea of expectations and destinies. Choppy waves of hurt and pressure with a healthy sprinkling of self doubt for flavor. Fighting for control as you’re sent careening through twisting currents. Helpless to the all-encompassing weave of fate or circumstance or whatever wishy-washy term you want to call it.

And now you’re here. Washed up on shore with a fiery prince cracked open and on display. Vulnerabilities set out for all to see like a merchant’s best wares. Shining and polished to hide the dents and imperfections that just couldn’t be buffed out.

But you’re the type of person to buy the chipped teapot because of its flaws, and not despite them. Acknowledging the hurt and sanding down the sharper edges until it no longer cuts when you drink.

But this porcelain still bites. And you’re left watching the blood run down, lip scabbing over as it pools at the bottom in a crimson pool. Wondering how many people it takes to fix a poor, shattered teapot that won’t accept the help. Wondering if anyone will notice the broken porcelain doll clutching at the bloodied pieces.

So you ignore the cracks in the china. Ignore them in favor of Zuko, in favor of his skin beneath your fingertips and his eyes locked onto yours. His cheeks flushed with a dusting of pink that suits him well in the flickering lamplight. Lips parted as if he has something to say, something important.

But he presses them together and swallows tightly. Pulling back and turning away as he rummages for something in the corner.

And as he slides the key into the lock of your cuffs, the definitive _click_ signalling your release;

The burden of trust wraps around your neck.

* * * *

You sleep together thrice more after that.

Not in the way you think. Not with bodies flushed and hot and moving together, but with an invisible wall between you as you curl up beneath the covers. The imaginary boundary often forgone as you wake up wrapped around one another. A recurrence that both of you have unanimously decided to ignore.

You haven’t returned to your cell since that night, haven’t been cuffed in just as long. And maybe it’s luck that the crew isn’t suspect (though you’re quite certain it’s Iroh. What with his easy reassurances and approachable aura, he’s undoubtedly heading off suspicions for both of your sakes) , but you’re constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop.

And it does at the worst of times, with the worst of people.

You’re sprawled out on the bed mat, Zuko sitting beside you with his legs neatly crossed. Basking in the other’s company as you distractedly fiddle with the charm of your necklace. You can almost say you’re at ease. The foundation of trust mostly stable even as waves beat at the base. Especially since Zuko hasn’t asked about Aang for over a day now.

So it’s really no surprise when something comes and ruins it.

The door creaks open, and Iroh peeks his head in with an unreadable look in his eye. Voice steady and unaffected even as his expression screams trouble, “Prince Zuko, you have a visitor.”

Zuko sighs, not even bothering to look up, “for the last time, Lieutenant Jee. I don’t want to learn how to play the liuqin.” You, on the other hand, meet the general’s eye. The drawn expression on his face more than enough to set you on edge. And when his fingers twitch to the side--a universal sign for _get down_ \--you decide to heed his warning. Ducking beneath the covers and flattening yourself as best you can, praying that you look like an unshapely lump in the corner.

And it seems you’ve acted just in time. Heavy footsteps trailing in followed by a cruel voice that is bone-chillingly familiar.

“You won’t need to worry about that,” the voice of Zhao replies, irritably smug, “I’m taking your crew.”

_That can’t be good…_

“What!?” Zuko startles, shooting to his feet and surging forward. And while you can’t actually see him, you can certainly imagine the all-too familiar scowl on his face, “Uncle, is that true?”

“I’m afraid so,” Iroh says gravely, fake sobs following his words, “he’s taking everyone, even the cook.”

“I’ve recruited them for a little expedition to the North Pole,” Zhao elaborates, a chill running down your spine and resting heavy in your gut as you realize the implication of his words, “sorry you won’t be there to watch me capture the Avatar, but I can’t have you getting in my way again.”

Zuko shouts in frustration. And, thankfully, whatever impulsive decision he’s about to make is halted by Iroh.

But Iroh can’t stop _your_ impulsivity. So you curl your fingers around the edge of the covers and lift them up a fraction. Peeking out the smallest of gaps as you quietly watch the scene unfold. Watching helplessly as Zhao approaches the mounted broadswords with something like recognition in his eyes. Grabbing hold of the handle and innocently examining the blade.

“I didn’t know you were skilled with broadswords, Prince Zuko,” he says, slashing the sword experimentally before testing the edge of the blade. Words complimentary even as his tone is nothing but.

“I’m not,” Zuko objects, and you know that’s a lie. And Zhao probably knows too. Because if you’re a bad liar, then Zuko’s like a toddler who’s been caught with the cookie jar, “they’re antiques, just decorative.”

There’s an edge to Zhao’s expression that you really don’t like. Cold and calculating with a hint of smugness that makes you uneasy. “Have you heard of the Blue Spirit, General Iroh?” he says mock casually. Stomach dropping to your feet as you watch a flicker of anxiety flash over Zuko’s face.

“Just rumors. I don’t think he is real,” Iroh replies, expression schooled into careful neutrality.

“He’s real alright,” Zhao says knowingly, walking over and handing the sword to Iroh, “he’s a criminal, and an enemy of the fire nation.” His eyes cut over to meet Zuko’s, “but I have a feeling justice will catch up with him soon.” 

He turns to leave, and for a split second you swear his eyes meet yours. Terror freezing you in place as his lip twitches up in a conniving smirk.

“Ah, General Iroh,” he turns to face the man, standing in the doorway as if to taunt you, “now that the Avatar is as good as mine, there’s no need for that troublesome prisoner of yours.” He smiles, lips thin as menace oozes from every pore, “I’d like you to get rid of them, permanently.”

It’s like you’ve been thrown off a cliff and plunged into the sea. Ice running through your veins as your stomach swoops almost painfully. The terror of your looming mortality crashing into you like a collapsing wall of stone.

There’s a moment of silence afterwards. Even Iroh caught off guard as he processes the admiral’s request.

“Admiral Zhao, I’m certain--”

“You’re not defying my orders, are you?” Zhao says mildly, “oh well, another failure to add to the list.” He eyes Zuko meaningfully, the slightest bit of fear shadowing the prince’s expression as he avoids looking at you. And for a split second, you’re certain he’ll do it. Pull back the covers and run you through with the broadsword. Sacrifice you for a smidgen of his father’s approval.

“I..I can’t,” he refuses, relief washing over you like the sun peeking through the clouds, “because...because she escaped!”

“Unfortunately, yes” Iroh agrees wholeheartedly, covering for Zuko’s less than perfect lying skills, “she escaped her chains and leapt overboard. We’ve been looking for her ever since.” 

Zhao’s suspicious, you can tell. But he’s not about to pick a fight with the Dragon of the West on his own ship. 

“It was foolish of me to rely on a traitorous prince,” Zhao scoffs, calling one last thing over his shoulder before leaving, “General Iroh, the offer to join my mission still stands if you change your mind.”

The door slams closed, and you can’t help but feel as if you’ve been found out.

* * * *

Zuko’s sulking. Full blown, teen angst, ‘nobody understands me’ sulking.

You don’t know whether you should feel relieved or sympathetic. Because on the one hand, he can no longer hunt down your friends. But on the other, _Zhao_ is now hunting your friends. And Zuko’s lost any chance of returning back home.

So sympathy it is.

“I’m sorry about Zhao,” you comfort stiltedly, the two of you having swapped positions so now he’s lying down and you're sitting. He huffs, glaring up at the ceiling with his arms crossed over his chest. He’s been giving everyone the silent treatment, including Iroh. Breaking his mute streak only to shout about his self proclaimed ‘traitorous’ crew. And with Iroh having gone out on a walk, you’re the only one around for him to sulk at.

Or at least, that’s what you think.

A loud squeak sounds in the distance. Too deliberate to explain away, yet too vague to discern what it is. The mystery of it all setting your teeth on edge as you fret over the ‘what ifs.’ Compared to you, Zuko is far more reactive. Jumping to his feet and calling for his uncle as he peers out into the hall. Eyes narrowed in suspicion as he shifts into a ready stance, beckoning you to follow in an unforeseen gesture of trust. The two of you sneaking down the hall and making your way to the control room.

Everything seems normal, perfectly so. The room tidy and neat with the windows meticulously polished.

But there, outside on the railing, lurks an oddity. A shaggy looking iguana parrot that is far too familiar for your liking. Their squawking grating on your ears as you turn on your heel, reaching for Zuko as you cry out in warning.

“Pirates!”

But it’s too late. The belly of the ship shaking and roaring as a wave of burning heat rushes forth. A devastating explosion that seems to go by in slow motion, the flames closing in as slowly as the rising tide. And in a moment of pure instinct, you outstretch your arm and push out with your hand. The flames seeming to draw back before racing forward and sending you rocketing out the already shattered window. Crashing into the water and sinking down down down… Enveloped by darkness as firelight dances atop the waves, cutting through the black and coloring your face. Keeping you grounded as your consciousness hangs on by a thread.

It’s through sheer desperation that you manage to break through to the surface. Shaking uncontrollably as you kick and flail, the cold cutting through to your bones as you fight to draw breath. You paddle over to the docks and grip onto the wood with all your might, unable to do more than clutch weakly onto the edge.

Suddenly, you feel a hand grab your collar and hoist you onto land. Patting your back comfortingly as you hack up a lungful of seawater.

“Is my nephew with you?” a panicked voice cuts through the haze, the hand on your back stilling as Iroh looks out over the water. His eyes going wide as you shake your head, “Zuko!”

Zuko. Zuko is out there. Zuko is alone, in the dark, drowning (if he’s not already dead). The boy who’s caused so much hurt yet you couldn’t help developing a soft spot for. The boy who put his future on the line for your sake. Who lied to protect you even as he gained nothing.

So you stand up, turn on your heel, and dive back into the water.


	10. Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: drowning, resuscitation, blood and injuries, derogatory language

It’s dark. So very, very dark. Almost as if a curtain was drawn over your eyelids. There’s nothing to light your way, no beacon to draw you in. Just scattered firelight that only barely cuts through the black. You can’t see Zuko--can’t even see your hand in front of your face--and with every passing second, your panic grows. Even mistaking chunks of debris for a body in your desperation. Your lungs are screaming and your fingers are numb from the cold. Yet you dive deeper. Fingertips brushing over the silt at the bottom as you frantically search.

You almost miss him. Almost. Fingers catching on the edge of his robe as you ball up the fabric. Tugging him close as your heart drops to your feet, noticing how he lays limp in the water. Lips parted and chest deathly still.

You have no time to lose. Hugging him to your chest as you push off the floor, rocketing upwards and raising him up out of the water. Kicking with your feet as you help Iroh hoist him up onto the dock. You hurriedly crawl over to Zuko’s side, tilting his chin up as you lay him out on his back. Hand on his chest and cheek to his lips as you feel for any movement.

“He’s not breathing,” you announce. Fear blocking out everything else as you pull back and seal your lips over his. Pinching his nose shut as you force air into his lungs, taking a heaving breath before you return your lips to his. Repeating one, two, five times before checking again.

Nothing.

Panic beginning to sink in, you twine your hands together and place them in the center of his chest. Fighting back the urge to freeze up as you pump your arms up and down. Slamming the heel of your palm into his ribs as you struggle to stay on beat. Pushing back all thoughts of failure because he  _ couldn’t  _ die. You wouldn’t allow it, couldn’t even picture it.

So when he finally takes a breath, it’s as if the world is lifted off of your shoulders.

“Zuko,” you say breathlessly, wincing in sympathy as he rolls onto his side and heaves. Eyes flying open as an ocean of saltwater streams from his mouth, buckling in on himself as blood drips from a cut across the bridge of his nose, “shit, oh shit. Are you okay?”

And that’s when the exhaustion finally hits. Settling into your bones like a coating of lead, heavy and weighted in the worst possible way. Injuries making themselves known as you shiver in the chilling breeze. The heat of the flames not nearly enough to keep you warm.

Meaning you’re immeasurably grateful as Iroh squats down beside you. Not so subtly heating up the air as he moves to tend to his nephew. Laying a gentle hand on the teen’s shoulder as he pats his back.

“There we are, let it out,” he comforts gently, “this will pass soon enough.” Zuko whimpers, stifling the noise in his sleeve as he hacks and coughs. Blindly shoving the two of you away as he manages to curl even further into himself. Shivering like a half-drowned kitten as he tries to shrug off his vulnerability. Shoulders shaking with spasming coughs as he chokes on his own breath. “Y/N,” Iroh turns to address you, “are you able to stand?” You nod shakily, still weakened from the blast. “Then please, help me bring my nephew inside.”

You nod again. Rising wobbily to your feet and looping Zuko’s arm around your shoulder. Carrying most of the prince’s weight as you hobble alongside Iroh. The general rapping his fingers against the door of a nearby hut and whispering to the owners. Flashing what you swear is a white lotus tile off a pai sho set before being welcomed inside.

Stepping over the threshold, you stumble to the back and carefully lay Zuko out on a low table. Collapsing to your knees as you rest your weight against the tabletop, happily letting Iroh take the lead as he tends to Zuko’s wounds. Everything going hazy as your vision tunnels, focusing in on Zuko’s face as he stares up at the ceiling. Avoiding your eye as if in shame.

With delirium induced tenderness, you rest your hand atop his. Fingers curled so that it gives the illusion they intertwine. “‘S ‘kay,” you murmur. Unsure whether or not you actually feel his fingers tighten around yours, or if it’s just imagination.

You should probably make a plan. Should probably tell Iroh what had happened.

But right now...all you can do is hold onto Zuko’s hand and let sleep claim you for itself.

* * * *

You don’t like this plan.

You’re nothing but a sitting turtleduck. Literally right beneath Zhao’s nose as you work and sleep and eat on  _ his _ goddamn ship. Only a crummy helmet and loose fitting armor keeping you from being spotted. Any sense of familiarity is gone. Your kimono torn to shreds and your weapons lost to sea long ago. The only thing of yours remaining being your charm necklace.

Needless to say, you’re a little on edge.

Because this whole plan revolves around being undetected. That Iroh is able to misdirect Zhao and the thousands of other soldiers on the ship, that you and Zuko are able to fly under the radar without suspicion. And even then, you’re still travelling to the North Pole with the sole intent to capture Aang. A goal which you and Zuko--obviously--do not share.

_ (“You can’t be serious!” you hiss. Glaring at Zuko as he sits up on the table, “there’s no way I’m going with Zhao’s fleet. And I’m not helping you capture Aang!” _

_ He glares at you in turn. Lifting his chin with a huff as he crosses his arms, wincing as he tugs at his ribs, “fine then, leave! See if I care.” _

_ The standoff intensifies. Both of you refusing to back down as you glower at one another. Any warm and fuzzy feelings are forgotten, the two of you choosing to ignore what had happened in favor of the comforting familiarity of your animosity. Slipping back into old habits as you fight and argue like the enemies you were meant to be. _

_ But before you can ruin your pseudo-friendship forever, Iroh intervenes. _

_ “It is not wise to make decisions in anger,” Iroh advises, stepping between the two of you as he turns to Zuko, “you might say something you’ll regret.” The prince looks away, boring a hole into the wall with his glare. “And Y/N,” Iroh turns to you, “while it may not be what you want to hear, you’d reunite with your friends much faster travelling with Zhao than alone.” _

_ It’s definitely not what you want to hear…but he is right. _

_ “Fine, I’ll come.”) _

So you keep quiet. Going along with Zuko’s plan on the off chance you’ll be reunited with your group. Although the thing is, you’ve hardly even seen the guy outside of the occasional meetup with Iroh. Distracted as you are with keeping your head down and learning the patterns and layouts of the ship.

So it’s a bit of a shock when you end up next to him during a surprise inspection.

It’s wholly on accident. The lineup completely random as you all stand in straight, even rows. Staring straight ahead as the straight laced lieutenant inspects your ranks with a keen eye. Making sure everything meets his impossible standards. He passes Zuko without pause, eyes narrowing in on you with unerring precision. Stopping mid stride as he swivels to face you in particular. Heels comically clicking together as he stands ramrod straight.

“Soldier,” he snaps, towering over you as his nostrils flare, “do you think this is a joke?”

“N-no sir,” you answer hesitantly. Which is obviously not the way to go, based off of how the lieutenant responds. Flecks of spittle frothing in the corner of his mouth as he rants.

“You are a disgrace, an embarrassment! A blot on our great nation!” he rambles, his words inconsequential as you simply tune them out. Because why on earth would you care? You’re not Fire Nation. “It’s clear you have no respect for tradition. Just look at how you treat your uniform!”

And that’s when everything goes to shit. Breath stilling in your chest as he reaches out with his hand and lunges for your throat. Fingers worming beneath the edge of your helmet and clasping at the chain of your necklace. Breaking the loop with a cataclysmic snap as he tears it from your neck.

It’s as if he’s reached into your chest and torn out your heart. Leaving you bloodied and raw as you bleed out onto the floor. Crimson staining your front and mixing with the Fire Nation red of your armor. Your blood, your mother's blood, your father's blood; all mixed together and pulsing doggedly through your veins. Hardened and shaped into the yin-yang charm clutched in the lieutenant’s meaty fist.

You’re angry. So overwhelmingly angry that you could scream. Could spit fire and breathe sparks like a goddamn dragon. Spread your wings and dig your claws so deep deep deep in his gut that rivers of red would flood the earth. Drowning each and every one of these motherfuckers like sailors lost at sea. Dragging Fire Lord Ozai into the depths and watching gleefully as the iron fills his lungs.

But you can’t. So you breathe. In and out and in and out until the volcano in your chest quiets. Snuffing out the embers of your rage before it grows into an uncontrollable inferno.

“Water Tribe? Water Tribe!?” the lieutenant spits, shaking his fist in your face. Necklace dangling between his fingers like a pendulum, “what would possess you to wear such savagery?”

What else can you do but lie? 

“My father...killed for it,” you fib. Rot on your tongue as you force the falsehood through your teeth, “a siege on the Southern Tribe. Took it off a snow savage’s corpse as a trophy.”

A second passes. Then another, and another. 

“A trophy, eh?” he sneers, relief crashing over you as he seems to buy it, “then I’m sure you won’t mind if I keep it.”

_ In and out. In and out. Keep breathing or Spirits help me I’ll gut him like a fish. _

“But--”

“We’ll consider it my trophy, hm? For keeping all of you in line,” his gaze sweeps over the group, zeroing in on the next poor soul as he marches on like nothing had happened.

Everything blurs after that. Your feet carrying you far, far away the moment you’re dismissed. Tears burning in your eyes as your chest spasms with held back sobs. Guilt and anger and crippling sadness welling up in your throat and choking you like creeping vines.

“Y/N,” fingers curl around your wrist and tug you into a corner. Golden eyes meeting yours as Zuko checks to make sure you’re both out of sight, “are you...uh...you okay?” It’s endearingly awkward. The pressure on your chest relaxing a little as you’re able to take a breath.

“I’m fine, it’s just…” you laugh wetly, turning your head so you can detach your faceplate and wipe at your eyes, “that was the only thing I had left of my parents. And...fuck, I don’t even know who it belonged to but...but I’ve had it since I was a baby. I don’t think I’ve ever taken it off and now...now I don’t know what to do.”

He’s quiet. Fingers still wrapped around your wrist as if he doesn’t know what else to do with them. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, voice rough around the edges but still comforting, “I think...I think I understand how you feel.” You turn to meet his eye, making no move to dislodge his grip on your arm. “When my mom...died--” it sounds as if he doesn’t believe it “--my father got rid of nearly every mention of her. Azula did away with the rest.”

“Azula?”

“My younger sister,” he explains, though there’s no fondness in his tone, “she burned one of her portraits right in front of me. Thought it was funny.” He ignores the shocked look on your face. “So...I get it. I get how it feels to lose something that important.”

“I’m sorry too,” you crack a weak smile. Sliding the faceplate back into place as you whisper, “thank you, Zuko. I feel a bit better now.”

He stares at you funny for a moment. Expression hardening as he says resolvedly, “I’ll get it back for you, trust me.”

It won’t happen, but it’s a nice thing to say, “I trust you.”

And--funnily enough---you mean it.

(He presses something into your hand a few hours later. Fingers brushing over yours as he continues patrolling like nothing is amiss, not even sparing you a glance as he turns the corner. 

You don’t even have to look to know what it is. A warm sort of fondness bubbling in your chest as you clutch it to your chest. The chain welded back together with thoughtful precision as your thumb strokes over the familiar charm).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not feeling too hot about this chapter...But look! They're bonding! And we're almost at the end of Book One!


	11. Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: death, violence, near drowning

With stolen moments like this, you almost forget you’re at war.

Almost.

You’ve never felt so helpless, so dirty. Watching from the sidelines as Zhao’s fleet wages war on the Northern Water Tribe. Fire streaking through the air and crashing into the magnificently sculpted walls, melting the ice as they pummel the people into submission. It’s through sheer luck alone that they survive the bombardment. Zhao’s troops withdrawing at the last second as the moon rises and the sky darkens. Leaving the tribespeople to count their losses.

You should be helping. Should be fighting alongside your friends, your  _ people.  _ Should kick Zhao’s ass into the next century and stop this madness.

But you’re one amongst many, and all you’d do is throw your life away.

So now you’re here. Sneaking away under the cover of darkness as you get ready to set off towards shore. Both you and Zuko wrapped up in thick, insulated clothing in order to stave off the arctic chill. The prince fiddling with the ropes as you prepare to lower the kayak into the water. And with a creak of the door hinges, Iroh slips into the room. A grave look on his face as he regards the two of you with a sad sort of fondness. 

“If you are fishing for an octopus, my nephew, you need a tightly woven net. Or he will squeeze through the tiniest hole and escape.”

“I don’t need your wisdom right now, Uncle,” Zuko grumbles, setting down the rope and facing out to sea, “we’re running out of time.” And you really are. The moon hanging low as the darkness threatens to rise. The approaching battle looming overhead like the blade of a guillotine.

“I’m sorry, I just nag you because…” the general’s voice breaks, laden with long withheld emotion that tugs at your heartstrings, “well, ever since I lost my son…”

“Uncle, you don’t have to say it,” Zuko murmurs, turning his head aside as he tamps down his own emotions. Fingers digging into the metal edge of the kayak until his knuckles turn white. You want to comfort, to help. But you find yourself frozen in place. Useless and unsure.

“I think of you as my own.”

Okay, now you definitely feel like an outsider. Intruding on the moment like concrete in a meadow, unwelcome and unneeded.

“I know, Uncle. We’ll meet again,” Zuko promises, eyes wet with held back tears. He turns to Iroh and starts as he’s enveloped in a tight hug. Quickly pulling away and busying himself with the kayak to hide his weakness.

And with that, Iroh turns his attention to you. Cupping your hands in his almost pleadingly. “Please, watch over my nephew,” he says quietly, “he needs someone there to guide him, despite what he may think.”

You don’t hesitate in your answer. “I will,” you swear, “thank you for everything, Iroh.”

“Call me Uncle,” he smiles, “stay safe and stay true, Y/N.”

You return his smile beamingly. Pulling away and slipping into the kayak alongside Zuko, lowering the ropes as you slowly drop into the ocean below. Smiling giddily as Iroh--Uncle--calls out a few last bits of paternal advice.

“Remember your breath of fire, Zuko! It could save both your lives out there!”

“I will,” Zuko affirms.

“And pull your hoods up, keep your ears warm!”

“We’ll be fine!” you reassure. Eating your words as the kayak drops roughly into the water, sending you pitching forward and almost right off the edge. Saved only by Zuko grabbing hold of your collar and tugging you back. “Starting now!”

Success totally ensured, the two of you set off towards the city. Zuko paddling at his own stubborn insistence as you weave between the ships. Sticking to the shadows as you make your way to the craggy icebergs just outside the wall. With careful footsteps, you scrabble up onto the ice cap and duck behind the crystal. Avoiding the patrolling guards as you plan your next move.

“Now what?” you whisper, breath curling delicately in the air. The barking of turtle seals ruining the solemnity of the moment. Zuko ignores you, approaching an opening in the ice and watching as the turtle seals dive into the water. Becoming nothing more than murky shadows beneath the floe.

“Where are they going?” he muses, walking to the edge of the hole and peering into the depths.

“The other side…” you realize, moving to stand beside him, “they’ve gotta come up for air somewhere.”

And like the impulsive idiot Zuko is, he takes in a breath and follows after them. Disappearing around the bend as he melts into the darkness. The rippling water the only sign he’d even been there.

“You fucking idiot,” you grumble, throwing your hands up in exasperation, “if you wanted to drown so badly, I wouldn’t’ve bothered to save you!” Grumbling all the while, you take a heaving breath and dive into the deep. Regretting everything as freezing cold strikes through you like a physical thing. So shockingly cold that a gasp slips past your sealed lips, bubbles trailing behind as you waste your precious supply of air.

But there’s no turning back now. Cutting through the water like a dagger as you fight back the numbing chill. Focusing on the glowing warmth deep in your stomach as you picture it flowing through your body. And with your last ounce of energy, you surge upwards. Surfacing with a gasp and pulling yourself up onto an ice shelf. Humidity hitting you in waves as you sluggishly realize that you’re underground. Surrounded on all sides by turtle-seals and their gruff lowing. 

Energy thoroughly drained, you sprawl out across the uneven ground. Unable to do anything more than shiver as you stare up at the stalactites hanging from the ceiling. It feels as if you’re made of ice. Sculpted and polished and freezing cold. Stuck to the ground as frost gathers on your numbing lips.

And with a lurch of your stomach, hands grab at your waist and tug you upwards. Pulling your back to their chest as arms wind tightly around your middle. It’s so warm warm warm, and you can practically feel yourself thawing in their embrace. Melting like butter in a pan as they smooth their hand up and down your side.

“Here,” Zuko murmurs, opening his palm and summoning a small flame. The light casting a harsh, orange glow across his face. The flames red and angry looking, “you need to keep warm.”

Slowly, you rest your head against his shoulder. Pressing into his warmth as you mumble, “don’t pull that shit again, dumbass.” Tendrils of fear licking at your heart as you remember how he’d looked after the explosion. Lips blue and skin paler than a marble statue. Breath still in his chest like a music box that’d stopped singing. 

He’s quiet. Eventually dismissing the flame with a wave of his hand as he rises to his feet. “Come on,” he orders, setting off towards the back of the cave. Sparing you a quick second to catch up as he approaches the edge of a small pool. You follow his gaze up the wall, noticing an opening in the ice which a harsh stream of water pours out of. “That’s our way out.”

Well, at least he told you this time.

“After you,” you offer, stepping out of the way with a sarcastic bow. Biting back a smirk as he huffs in annoyance, obligingly trudging forward and scaling up the wall. Crawling into the opening and disappearing amongst the churning waters. 

Without hesitation, you move to follow him. Digging your fingers into the wall and fighting against the raging current. Slowly making your way through the tunnel as you struggle to keep your grip. Soon enough, the claustrophobic channel opens up into a wide cavern. Light shining through the thick sheet of ice in a glowing blue halo.   


And like a moth to a flame, you both flock to it. Swimming upwards and pounding your fists against the polished surface. Panic beginning to sink in as the hollow thump of your blows lends no change. The tightness in your chest unbearable as oxygen begins to run short. And, shamefully, there’s a brief moment in which you give up. Resigning yourself to your fate as your vision begins to blur and darken.

But Zuko’s not one to quit. His palms glowing red like hot coals as he presses them into the ice. Sinking in up to his elbows before it finally gives way, opening up to the surface.

And then there’s air. Sweet, beautiful, burningly cold air. You’ll never take breathing for granted again. Never take  _ warmth  _ for granted again. And as you pull yourself out of the water and lean against the ice wall ( _ everything  _ is made of ice here. It’s getting annoying), you decide to take that warmth for yourself. Tugging Zuko close as you curl into his side. Resting your head on his shoulder as he stiltingly wraps his arm around your back.

You can hear his heartbeat, feel his breath. Chest rising and falling in sync with yours. Up and down and up and down like the gentle swelling of the tides. Laying stagnant in the waters as he gathers himself together. Too tired to even speak as you look out over the city.

From the inside, the buildings are far more magnificent. Shining walls of crystal that glisten in the moonlight. Sharp, clean edges polished enough to show reflections. Towering buildings and detailed pillars that stretch into the sky. You can’t help but feel small in comparison. Like an ant learning of the backyard, or a fisherman swept out to sea.

“It’s sad,” you hum, watching the water flow in the canal, “to destroy something so beautiful.”

His fingers flex, digging into the meat of your shoulder as he stares out at the horizon. “I guess you could say that,” he admits, jaw set as he avoids your eye. The ending you’d neglected to picture now right in front of you. The end of... _ this. _ Of whatever you and Zuko have become.

“You know, you can come with me,” you offer, voice soft and tentative, “with us, with the Avatar. I’m sure we can work something out.”

“You could come with me instead,” he counters, voice bitter and strained, “you could help me—“

“You know I won’t,” you interrupt, lifting your head off his shoulder, “this is the end, we both knew it was coming.”

“...I didn’t,” he murmurs, guilt tugging at your heart as he catches your eye, “you’re going to help him.” It’s more of a statement than a question.

“I’m sorry.” And you are.

“I’m sorry, too.”

A fist connects to your temple, and the world goes black.

* * * *

Your first thought upon awakening is,  _ fuck, my head. _

Your second is,  _ I should’ve seen this coming. _

Well, not the ‘knocking unconscious’ thing. More along the lines of ‘betrayal’ or ‘tied up in a cave.’ Which is convenient, considering how both have just occurred. Your wrists and ankles bound as you’re trussed up like a hog. Face smushed against the uncomfortable cave wall as your eyes slowly blink open. Vision clearing to reveal someone you never thought you’d see again.

It’s Aang. Arrow aglow as his eyes blare from behind closed eyelids. Expression perfectly neutral as he draws in measured, even breaths. He’s different, somewhat. Baby fat burned away with slightly sallower cheeks, eye bags clear in the flickering firelight. A weight to him that carries even in sleep (meditation, whatever). He’s bound just like you. A fact which can only mean one thing...

Heart sinking, your eyes shift upwards. A distinct feeling of betrayal settling in your gut as you see who’s standing at the mouth of the cave. Wind howling as snow falls in a thick sheet of white, a perfect backdrop for the man you’d once trusted.

Zuko.

He’s saying something, you realize. Staring at the blizzard raging outside as he talks quietly to himself. “You’re like my sister, everything always came easy to her,” he says, sparing a quick glance at Aang before looking back outside. Miraculously not noticing your newfound consciousness, “she’s a firebending prodigy, and everyone adores her.” His fists clench, standing tall against the winds as he continues, “my father says she was born lucky. He says I was lucky to be born.” You suck in a breath, frozen in shock as anger and pity overwhelms you. Conflicting feelings waging war inside your head as he speaks, “I don’t need luck though. I don’t want it. I’ve always had to struggle and fight, and that’s made me strong. It’s made me who I am.”

He turns back around, barely giving you enough time to fake unconsciousness as he walks closer. Footsteps echoing ominously as you fight to remain still, ultimately losing the battle as he gently touches your forehead. Flinching backwards at the suddenness of the motion. He sighs, withdrawing his hand as you hear him pull away. Eyes squeezed shut as you pray to all the Spirits that he doesn’t notice you’re awake.

Suddenly, he grabs your ropes and carefully tugs you closer to the fire. Propping you up against the wall as he makes sure you’re warm. The ache in your body thawing as you realize just how cold you were moments before.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he murmurs, “I shouldn’t’ve...this was a mistake.” You keep still. Tension easing slightly as your face softens, “I didn’t know what else to do and now...I’m sorry.” He’s quiet after that. Walking over to the other side of the cave to brood.

Perhaps unwisely, you stealthily crack your eyelids open. Just in time to watch Aang’s arrows fade back to normal. Eyes fluttering open and widening when they land on you.

“Y/N!” he gasps, smiling despite his restraints, “what are you doing here?”

“Shh!” you implore. A little too late as Zuko whirls around and sees the two of you talking, “shit.”

“You’re awake,” Zuko growls. Eyes darting from Aang to you and back again, “don’t try anything.”

“Watch me,” Aang taunts, sitting back on his heels and taking a heaving breath of air, “I’ll be back, Y/N!” With that said, he exhales with enough force to send him rocketing out into the snow. Zuko running after him and grabbing him by the collar as he tries to wiggle away. 

And with a roaring bellow, Appa suddenly swoops in from above. Landing with a puff of snow as your friends leap down from his back. Katara facing off against Zuko as a white haired girl watches from the saddle. A few words are exchanged between the two, and with a wave of Katara’s arms, a pillar of ice shoots upwards and crashes back down. Knocking Zuko out immediately as he’s ruthlessly slammed to the ground.

With him out of the way, the group is able to get to Aang. Slicing away the ropes and helping him to his feet. You can’t catch what he says next, but whatever it is sends your friends charging into the cave. Sokka cutting away your bindings as Katara pulls you in for a tearful group hug.

“We thought you were dead!” She cries, burying her face into your shoulder to hide her tears.

Sokka thumps your back. Voice choked as he tries to keep his tone steady, “don’t do that again, Appa was all mopey without you.”

“No promises,” you answer, wincing as he punches your arm with a bit more force, “alright, I’m sorry. I missed you guys.”

“We missed you too,” Aang says, arms thrown around you as you sway as one. You look up, locking eyes with the white haired girl standing at the entrance. A small smile on her lips as she watches the reunion. She has a kind aura about her, strong features and soft eyes that compliment each other.

You return her smile, looking each of your friends in the eye as you ask, “so, what did I miss?”

* * * *

Everything is red and Zhao wants to kill the moon.

Spirits, you miss when things were simpler. Back when all you had to worry about was Zuko and whether or not you could keep your affair hidden. Things are far different now. Zuko’s unconscious in the back of the saddle, your friends are half convinced you’ve been brainwashed, and Princess Yue and Aang are saying the moon spirit’s in trouble.

_ (“Hold on,” you interrupt, pausing as everyone climbs up onto Appa’s back, “we can’t just leave him here.” _

_ “Who, Zuko?” Sokka scoffs, “sure we can.” _

_ “If we leave him he’ll die,” you protest. Storming away and hoisting the unconscious prince to his feet. Hobbling over to the bison and fretting about how you’ll get him on top. _

_ “Are you crazy!?” Sokka sputters, waving his arms in the air, “he just had you tied up five seconds ago! Why would you want to help him?” He lowers his arms, squinting at you in suspicion, “wait, are you under some super freaky fire nation mind control? Stay back!” _

_ “Sokka, stop,” Katara admonishes, “mind control isn’t a thing.” _

_ “Besides, Y/N’s right,” Aang says agreeably. Hopping down from Appa’s back and looping Zuko’s arm around his shoulder. Using an air blast to easily leap back onto the saddle, “it isn’t right to leave him.” _

_ “Sure, yeah. Let’s bring the guy who’s constantly trying to kill us,” Sokka huffs, crossing his arms and slouching down in his seat. Relaxing as Yue rests a comforting hand on his shoulder, “whatever, let’s go.”) _

And now, facing off against Zhao in the Spirit Oasis. You have a feeling things are going to get even worse.

“Zhao,” you say darkly, pulling out the short dagger Sokka loaned you, “put the fish down,  _ now. _ ” The admiral scowls. Holding the cloth bag tightly as the spirit flails about inside. Your friends hefting their weapons only to lower them as Zhao moves to burn the bag.

“Don’t!” Aang shouts, dropping his staff and holding his hands up pleadingly.

“It’s my destiny to destroy the moon and the water tribe,” Zhao preaches. Expression eerie and downright mad.

“Destroying the moon won’t just hurt the Water Tribe, it’ll hurt everyone. Including you,” Aang says sagely, hands up as he implores Zhao to see reason, “without the moon, everything would fall out of balance. You have no idea what kind of chaos that would unleash on the world.”

“He’s right, Zhao.” 

You turn with a start. Shocked to find that Iroh has joined the fray.

“General Iroh, why am I not surprised to discover your treachery?” Zhao glowers, brows knit together as his eyes narrow.

“I’m no traitor, Zhao,” Iroh says lowly, sweeping his hood back, “the Fire Nation needs the moon, too. We all depend on the balance.” His eyes darken dangerously. And you’re suddenly reminded that he didn’t earn the title ‘Dragon of the West’ for nothing. “Whatever you do to that spirit, I’ll unleash on you tenfold! Let it go now!”

And for a moment, it seems you’ve gotten through to him. The admiral’s expression folding in on itself as he shakily dumps the fish back into the pool. Color bleeding back into the world as his face screws up in maddened delusion. Lip curling as he screams in hysteria. There’s no time to react. No time to stop him as he rears back his fist and lashes out with a devastating whip of flame. Fire cutting through the waters as the moon spirit is caught in the crossfire.

Darkness falls in a suffocating cloak. The moon fading from the sky as if it’d never been there in the first place. A plume of smoke rising from the pool as the spirit lays dead in the water. Porcelain white scales dull and marred with ashen burns.

Shocked into silence, you merely watch as Iroh does away with Zhao’s troops. The admiral cowardly fleeing the scene and leaving the rest of you to mourn the spirit’s passing. Iroh lifting the koi from the water with saddened reverence, bowing his head in defeat.

“There’s no hope now,” Yue chokes out, turning her head and burying her face in Sokka’s shoulder, “it’s over.”

“No,” Aang refutes, eyes aglow and arrow burning with piercing blue light. Voice reverbing and overlaid with thousands of others, “it’s not over.” As if possessed, he strides into the pool and stands in the middle. Disappearing into the water as a blue glow spreads from the center. Curls of white webbing through the glow as water surges forward in an unnatural wave. Spiralling upwards until it towers over even the tallest building. Spirits above, it’s fucking  _ La.  _ Fins running down their spine as they raise their arms, Aang hovering in the center of their chest like a burning heart.

Anger burning in their eyes, the spirit marches forward. Ridding the city of the Fire Nation with vengeful precision. The glow softening as they makes their way to the wall and the endless sea of Fire Nation ships.

But the moon is gone, and nothing can change that.

And yet…

“You have been touched by the moon spirit,” Iroh observes as he looks at Yue. All of you sitting around the oasis in mourning, “some of its life is in you.”

“Yes, you’re right. It gave me life,” Yue says softly, eyes sad and piercingly blue, “maybe I can give it back.” She rises to her feet, reaching towards the spirit laying limp in Iroh’s hand. 

“No!” Sokka objects, grabbing her wrist and stopping her in place, “you don’t have to do that.”

“It’s my duty, Sokka.”

“I won’t let you!” he refuses, “your father told me to protect you!” You watch the exchange with teary eyes. And while you may not know Yue well, the idea of her sacrificing her life is devastating. You can’t even imagine what it’s like for Sokka.

“I have to do this,” she insists, voice soft with an underlying current of strength. And with those words, she pulls out of Sokka’s grip. Resting her hands atop the spirit and closing her eyes as light shines beneath her fingertips. Legs giving out beneath her as she falls gracefully to the ground, Sokka catching her with an anguished shout.

“She’s gone,” he says disbelievingly, clutching her close as she fails to wake, “she’s gone.”

You gasp and cover your mouth with your hand. Blinking away tears as La devastates the Fire Nation navy in the distance. The violence inconsequential to what’s happening right in front of you.

And like fog blowing away in the wind, Yue disappears into nothing. Fading in Sokka’s arms as Iroh lowers the newly revived spirit into the pool. The two spirits circling one another in an endless, winding dance.

Yin and Yang, perfectly balanced.

So why does everything feel so wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Book One is done! Wow, this chapter was tiring to write. And I really hope Zuko isn't too ooc. I tried to be accurate, but please let me know what you think! Anyways, I'll be sure to write some introspection next chapter so it doesn't seem like reader forgave him right away.
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3


	12. Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: electrocution, injury, violence
> 
> Sorry for the long wait! With school starting back up soon, I haven't had a lot of time to write. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

The feeling doesn’t leave.

Things are different, that’s a given. But there’s that small part of you that naively thought nothing would ever change. That you’d never be separated or hurt, broken or betrayed. That your little group would somehow remain untouched by war throughout your adventures.

That notion seems stupid, now. A childish fantasy that has long since been smashed to bits. Rotted and soaked through like a stuffed toy abandoned by the riverside. Button eyes torn and stomach split open by the seams, stuffing spilling out onto the ground. Innocence lost and childhood squandered. 

But really, that’s to be expected. You’re at war after all, and innocence is a luxury few can afford.

Even Aang, a literal twelve year old, is not allowed such frivolities. Forced to shoulder a burden far too heavy to bear, a responsibility to the world that he has no choice but to accept. It’s changed him. Dulled his smile and sunk his shoulders. Footsteps a little heavier than you remember.

But if anyone’s changed, it’s Sokka. Or maybe he’s just always been like this, and you were too blind to see it. Hiding behind jokes and sarcasm like a warrior brandishing a shield. Tear-reddened eyes that no one has the heart to call him out on. He’s clingier, paranoid. Afraid to let anyone out of his sight for even a second. Trailing behind Katara with the flimsy excuse of keeping creeps away. Sticking to your side as if he’s certain you’ll be snatched away at any moment. You let it slide. Let yourself be the butt of his jokes as long as it makes him smile, however strained the gesture is. The secret of you and Zuko festering in your gut like a gangrenous wound.

For you can’t tell anyone. Not now, not ever. There’s blame there. An undercurrent of hatred that pulses like a racing heartbeat. All this anger and hate and guilt directed to the face of the Fire Nation.

Not Ozai.

Zuko.

Because you know him. Know his face and gait and the heat of his flames. Know the quirk of his lips and the furrow of his brow. His visage is burned into your mind. Stark and clear against the backdrop of snowy white. Solid when compared to the fuzzy imagining of the Fire Lord. A faceless entity with only a name to describe it. A puppet master pulling the strings from behind the scenes, distant and unfathomable.

Meaning all your grievances are shouldered onto the far more present prince. The destruction of the Northern Water Tribe? Zuko. The killing of the moon? Zuko. Yue’s death? Zuko. And sure, that’s not exactly a fair train of thought. But spirits, you’re far too angry to bother correcting anyone.

Yeah...you know what? You’re angry. Beyond pissed off, actually. You thought the two of you had something. Friendship, at the very least. The tentative beginnings of something more, like the creeping tendrils of a pea shoot. But instead, those roots were ripped out and burnt to ash. Embers ground beneath his heel like a cigarette butt under a boot. But then again, it was to be expected. An inevitability that you just had to accept.

You weren’t ready to do that anytime soon.

But everything’s okay. You’re  _ fine.  _ You’ll just deal with it on your own like you always do. Putting on a face and acting like nothing’s changed. Dressing in new clothes and brandishing new fans as if that makes you okay.

And it works, somewhat. And before you know it, you’re leaving the Northern Water Tribe on Appa’s back. Headed for the Earth Kingdom in search of an earthbending master. (Omashu had to be crossed off the list, considering that you’d heard whispers of its falling. It took a lot to convince Aang to leave it be, and you can tell it’s taken a toll on him. All the running. The Air Nomads, Omashu...you. The next fight he gets in, he won’t run so easily).

Well, whoever you find. You hope that they’re a good fit.

* * * *

You don’t know what to make of Toph Beifong.

She’s good,  _ scarily  _ good. Or maybe just scary in general. Stubborn and sharp and too big for her bones. It’s hard not to like her, even if she makes it difficult to do so. Loudmouthed and abrasive with a childish sort of cockiness that she has the skills to back up. Even without Aang’s swamp vision you would’ve chosen her as his mentor. Though really, it’s more like she chose him.

_ (The swamp is muggy. An earthy taste lingering at the end of every breath. Insects buzzing and creatures rumbling in the distance, water sloshing as you wade through the deep. Following after Huu as he leads you to the center of the swamp. Scaling the massive, woven roots of the banyan grove tree and settling right at the trunk. _

_ “Y’see, this whole swamp is just one tree spread out over miles,” Huu reveals, sitting down and leaning back against the mossy bark, “one big living organism, just like the entire world.” _

_ “I get how the tree is one big thing, but the whole world?” Aang wonders, staring out at the seemingly endless expanse of leafy treetops. The thick canopy spanning out for miles. And really, you have to agree with him. How is that even possible? _

_ “Sure. You think you’re any different from me, or your friends, or this tree?” Huu questions, pressing his palm to the knotted wood of the tree trunk, “if you listen hard enough, you can hear every little thing breathing together. We’re all living together, even if most folks don’t act like it. All roots of the same tree.” It’s so beautifully simple that it hurts. Pretty words that make you wish for more, wish for peace. But it can’t be that simple, that easy. It just can’t be. _

_ And as you’re wrestling with your thoughts, Katara changes the subject. Bringing it somewhere you’d rather not go. _

_ “But what did our visions mean?” _

_ You bite back your words of protest. Turning your head as Huu launches into a gentle explanation, mindful of the fragile expressions on Sokka and Katara’s faces. “In the swamp, we see visions of people we’ve lost, people we loved, folks we think are gone. But the swamp tells us they’re not. We’re still connected to ‘em.” _

_ “Um…” you interrupt uncertainly, “what if...what if you see someone who isn’t dead?” _

_ Huu thinks for a moment. Thoughtfully stroking his chin before hazarding an answer, “not everyone we’ve ‘lost’ is dead. They could’ve strayed away, lost through distance or lack of trust. The swamp doesn’t see the difference.” _

_ You bite your tongue. A sour taste in your mouth as you refuse to meet anyone’s eye. _

_ “Y/N, who did you see?” Sokka asks quietly. _

_ You swallow tightly. Remembering running through the swamp with fire in your veins and a name on your tongue. Vines whipping at your face as you brush them aside, gaze focused on the blur of red and gold darting between the trees. Crying out in anger, in hurt, in desperation. Fingers straining as you reach out for the figure disappearing into the foliage. Their face turning towards you for a split second. Golden eyes and scarred skin that dissolves into nothing. _

_ “Suki, I saw Suki.”) _

But now, after being chased around half the night. You just want the two girls to get along.

Some sleep wouldn’t hurt, either.

“Forget about setting up camp,” Sokka groans, flopping onto the ground as the rest of the group curls up on the floor. Appa’s rumbling snores already echoing through the open plains, “I’m finding the softest pile of dirt and going to sleep.”

You hum in agreement, digging your fingers into the earth as you hear Katara’s snippy retort. “That’s good! Because Toph wasn’t going to help anyway.”

The earthbender’s just as quick in her rebuttal, “oh, I didn’t realize baby still needed someone to tuck her in bed.”

You groan loudly. Squeezing your eyes shut and clamping your hands over your ears. “Can we please stop arguing? There’s something after us and I want to get at least five minutes of sleep before we have to leave.”

“Don’t jinx us!” Sokka bemoans, burrowing deeper into his sleeping bag like a badgermole hiding from the sun.

“Y/N’s right,” Aang agrees, tone subdued with exhaustion, “we don’t even know who or what is chasing us, we have to be ready.”

“It could be Zuko,” Katara suggests, the mere mention of his name making you freeze up, “we haven’t seen him since the North Pole.”

“Who’s Zuko?” Toph asks.

“An asshole,” you deadpan, the earthbender snorting at your bluntness.

“An asshole who’s tracked us all over the world,” Sokka adds, “but even  _ if  _ he’s the one chasing us, there’s no way he could’ve followed us here. So everyone  _ shush. _ ”

Miraculously, everyone listens. And for five beautiful, heavenly seconds; it’s completely silent.

And then a smoke cloud rises in the distance, and everything goes to shit.

“Oh not again!” Sokka complains, dark circles shadowing his eyes as he glares at you, “I knew you jinxed us!” You petulantly stick your tongue out at him, and he mirrors the gesture.

“But that’s impossible!” Aang gapes, “there’s no way they could’ve tracked us.”

“I can feel it with my own two feet!” Toph insists. The rest of you flocking to the nearby outlook and watching as the armored war machine plows towards you. Cutting down vegetation and leaving deep, patterned grooves in its wake.

“We need to leave,” you stress, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you turn towards Appa, “five minutes of sleep was a bit ambitious anyways.”

“Maybe we should face them and find out who they are,” Aang suggests, “who knows, maybe they’re friendly.”

“I think the sleep deprivation’s getting to you,” you huff, “I’m getting a ‘capture-the-Avatar-and-take-over-the-world’ vibe, not a ‘peace-love-and-happiness’ vibe.”

But despite your objection, you wait. The tank screeching to a halt as the back carriage opens with a hearty puff of steam. Three mongoose lizards skittering down the ramp with their riders clutching at the reins. They’re too far away to discern any features, but you get the feeling you’re not making any new friends today.

“That’s not Zuko,” Katara realizes, taking a step back as the riders sprint towards you.

“But if it’s not prince angry jerk…” Sokka muses, “then who  _ are  _ they?”

“I dunno, but we can take ‘em,” Toph says surely, readying herself for battle, “four on three!”

“Actually Toph, there’s five of us,” Sokka corrects as he hefts his boomerang.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Toph shrugs, “I didn’t count you. Y’know, no bending and all.”

“What!” he screeches indignantly, “but Y/N’s a nonbender! Why’d you  count her?”

“She’s not?” Toph blinks before dismissing Sokka with a wave of her hand, “eh, still counts.” He lets out a growl of frustration, glaring a hole into the dirt as Toph extends her palms outwards. Jabbing the air three times before flexing her fingers, the earth responding to her motions and erupting with a roar. Pillars shooting up from the ground and breaking the rider’s formation.

And yet that’s still not enough to deter them. The three weaving between the obstacles and picking their way across the rumbling earth. Stopped at the last moment by Toph’s hastily erected wall of stone.

But before you can even take a breath, there’s a snap of electricity and a burst of lightning. Electric blue streaming from the leader’s fingertips and rendering the wall to rubble, making for a rather impressive entrance.

The leader is fire nation, that much is clear. Her hair tied back in a perfectly maintained topknot, two strands of hair framing her sharply angled face. Expression serious with an upturned lip that betrays her amusement. To her left is a soft-eyed girl with a bubble ponytail, cheeks pink with some sort of expensive powder. And at her right sits a girl with thick, black bangs. Lips downturned and posture ramrod straight, harsh lines and harsh expressions.

“Shit.”

And with a crack of the reins, they stream in through the ruins. The bored one reaching into her billowing sleeve and firing a handful of stilettos. The arrows digging deep into Toph’s defensive pillar, buried in up to the head.

It’s around then that you all unanimously decide to flee. Backpedalling and scrambling up onto Appa’s saddle like a herd of headless possum chickens. Cut off at the last second as one of the girls jumps off her mount and lands with a twirl. Bounding towards Katara and ducking gracefully beneath her water whip. Limbs a blur as she jabs and punches with careful precision, Katara’s water falling to the ground like a dead weight. The bender herself collapsing like her bones were turned to rubber.

“Katara!” you shout, knocking her attacker aside with a harsh shove. Scooping her up in your arms and hurriedly clambering onto Appa’s back. And with everyone safely aboard, the bison takes off with a grumbling huff. Listing to the side as a burst of  _ blue flames _ spurs him off course.

But you manage to fly away, albeit a bit singed and still completely exhausted. Everything is completely--

“My bending’s gone!” Katara exclaims. Staring down at her palms as her hands shake, “that girl...she took my bending away!” You reach out to comfort her, the expression on her face on par with losing a limb.

“Oh no!” Aang rushes over, flitting around Katara anxiously as she fails to bend even a droplet of water. Even Toph looks the slightest bit worried, empathetic when it comes to not being able (or in Toph’s case, allowed) to bend, “is there anything I can do to help?”

“I don’t...I don’t know…” she says uncertainly. And the hopelessness in her voice is so uncharacteristic that it hurts, “do you think it’s gone forever?” With that said, Aang swoops in and soothes Katara with some comforting words. The sky lightening as the sun peeks out from behind the mountaintops.

“Oh no, the sun is rising,” Sokka mourns, masking his worry with humor, “we’ve been up all night with no sleep.”

“Sokka, we’ll be okay,” Aang says dourly, turning from where he’s comforting Katara to give Sokka a ‘look.’

“Are you sure!? I’ve never not slept before. What if I fall asleep now and something happens? And something always happens!”   


“Give it a rest, Snoozles,” Toph grunts, resting her cheek on the edge of the saddle as she tangles her fingers in Appa’s fur.

“I’d like to!”

“Listen. Everytime we land, those girls are there. So we’ll just have to keep flying,” Katara says reasonably, trying to gather her bearings.

“I still think we could’ve taken them,” Toph grumbles.

“Nah,” you shake your head, shielding your eyes from the burning sun, “that freaky blue fire is something else. That girl’s a prodigy.”

_ A firebending prodigy...where did you hear that before... _

“And someone that can take your bending away? That’s scary,” Katara whispers, curling her fingers and jumping as the water responds to her movement, “well, at least we know it’s temporary.” You open your mouth to say something, but the heaviness of your eyelids quickly grows too much to bear. Eyelids drooping as your jaw stretches in a bone cracking yawn.

And soon enough, you’re asleep.

* * * *

Toph left and the group’s split up.

The whole thing was stupid, and you’re proud to say you hadn’t participated in any of it (to be fair, you were asleep during the entire argument. And had woken up to an absent earthbending teacher and a regretful Aang). But that’s besides the point.

So now, you’re looking for said earthbending teacher. Prepared to do a lot of groveling for her to even consider joining back up. You’ve convinced Katara and Sokka to let you do the talking, and you already have a fairly impressive apology plotted out.

Figures that those girls have to ruin your plans.

“How’d they even find us!?” you marvel. Peering over Appa’s side as two of the girls follow you from below. Katara urging Appa to go faster only for the bison to refuse with a grumbling snort.

“Appa, come on! We need to go faster!” Sokka insists, hunkering down as Appa tilts into a stomach-dropping nose dive.

“He’s too tired!” Katara explains, holding onto the reins for dear life as Appa dips into the treeline. Branches and twigs snagging onto the bison’s fur as leaves catch on your belt. Squinting through the haze of foliage, you can just barely make out the watery blue of a nearby river. Encouraging Appa with a pat to the side and a few invigorating words.

“C’mon buddy! We just have to get over the river and you’re done!” you encourage. Whooping victoriously as his paws graze over the water as he crashes into the opposite shore, “yes, we made it!”

There’s a moment of relieved celebration, and then that fragile victory is shattered. The mongoose lizards rearing back on their hind legs and running across water as if it were solid land. And before you can even blink, Appa flicks his tail defensively and bucks. Sending you flying off his back and straight into a nearby tree. Blinking the haze out of your eyes as you watch the two girls take down your friends with ease. Pinning Katara with expertly aimed shurikens and rendering Sokka’s limbs to jelly. 

“I thought when Ty Lee and I finally caught you guys, it would be more exciting,” the dark-haired one comments boredly, arms crossed as she turns her back to you, “oh well, victory is boring.”

Body aching, brain fuzzy, vision tilting; you pull yourself up to your feet. Lunging forward and stepping between them and your vulnerable friends. Standing off against the two with fire in your eyes and fury in your heart.

“Think again,” you say darkly, snapping out your fans with a  _ shnick  _ of metal. Blocking a hail of shurikens with a wave of your fans and redirecting them at the wielder. Sidestepping Ty Lee’s following attack and ducking beneath the sweep of her leg, breaking her stance with a forceful jab at her planted foot. Before she can even hit the floor, you launch yourself at her companion. The edge of your fans catching on the hilt of her dagger, coming to blows in a vicious dance of skill.

“Color me surprised,” your opponent says tonelessly. An edge of begrudging respect creeping into her voice, “you’re not as boring as I’d expected.”

“I’m flattered,” you deadpan. Forced to retreat as Ty Lee regains her footing and joins the fray. Panic beginning to sink in as you slowly become more and more overwhelmed.

But just before you’re overpowered, Appa comes in clutch. Whipping out with his tail and knocking the girls far into the river. Turning round and bumping his fuzzy head against your side in apology.

“Thanks Appa,” you say gratefully, turning to your wide eyed friends, “let's get out of here, I have a feeling Aang’s in trouble.”

* * * *

As always, you’re right. The three of you finding Aang embroiled in a brutal conflict with the leader of the trio. Moments away from being incinerated before Katara swoops in and saves him. 

Though to be honest, you’re a bit surprised to find Zuko there as well.

You’re not stupid. You’ve seen the wanted posters. Traced your fingers over the familiar curve of Zuko’s jaw with something like yearning burning a hole in your heart. Reading the order to kill with terror sparking beneath your skin. You knew he was out there, somewhere. You just never expected that somewhere to be here.

He’s different. Hair grown in with a choppy, buzzed quality to it that starkly contrasts the sleek topknot he once sported. Cheekbones sharp and sunken in with a waxy pallor that speaks of weeks of hunger. His clothes are tattered, Earth Kingdom green dulled by the elements. Golden eyes backlit with an inferno of turmoil.

Needless to say, you’re distracted. Toph’s sudden reappearance doing you no favors as you back the Fire Nation girl into a corner. Realization striking you as amber eyes meet yours, a familiar shape on a stranger's face.

“Azula,” you whisper, so soft that you’re certain no one heard you. Though the princess’s eyes are uncomfortably knowing as they bore into yours.

“Well, look at this,” Azula drawls. Oddly at ease even as she’s cornered, “enemies and traitors all working together.” Her eyes flit from one end of the line up to the other. Moving from Iroh to Toph and back to you before finally raising her hands in surrender, “I’m done, I know when I’ve been beaten. A princess surrenders with honor.”

A breath that tastes like copper, and lightning sparks from the princess’s fingertips. Bursting forth and striking Iroh right in the heart, the man falling to the ground in a heap. 

Rage sparks within you like rice paper over flames. Blood pounding in your ears as you throw your fans with all your might, sparks shooting off from the edge as it spirals towards her in a blur. It seems everyone else has the same idea. Throwing everything they’ve got at the princess only for her to block it. The recoil of the blows triggering a large, ground shaking explosion that knocks you back a few feet. Smoke clearing to reveal nothing more than a charred piece of ruins, the princess long gone.

Your heartbeat echoes in your skull almost painfully _.  _ A racing drumbeat that grows even louder as you turn and find Iroh unconscious on the ground. Zuko sitting beside him with his fists clenched and head in his hands.

“Get away from us!” he shouts. Face twisted in anger as fear dances in his eyes like a flickering candle.

“Zuko, I can help,” Katara implores, reaching for her water pouch only to abort the motion.

“LEAVE!” Zuko roars, voice cracking as he lashes out with a pitiful whip of fire. The flames dying at your feet as you stupidly step closer, resting a hand on his shoulder and avoiding his eye as he jumps.

You want to hate him, you  _ should  _ hate him. And maybe you do. But right now, it isn’t about him. It’s about Uncle. And you’ll push any feud aside for his sake.

“Let her help,” you say firmly, feeling the teen deflate in your grip as he wordlessly allows Katara to step closer. Water swirling over the man’s chest as his breathing grows easier.

“That’s the most I can do,” Katara says quietly, scurrying away and retreating to the safety of the group. The four of them watching on as you give Zuko’s shoulder one last squeeze before turning away.

And if they notice that your food supplies are suspiciously lower, they’re kind enough not to say anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And for everyone who's here for the smut, there'll be some in just a few chapters. So hang in there for a little while longer!


	13. Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: canon typical violence

Everything goes downhill very, very quickly.

First off, there’s the whole library fiasco. What should’ve been a win tainted by the loss of your beloved sky bison. The information on the Fire Nation inconsequential to the kidnapping of your most loyal friend.

_ (The desert is bitterly cold, a stark contrast to the burning heat of the day. The night sky a cloak of black velvet with stars of glittering diamonds. You might’ve enjoyed the view, if not for your impending demise. An executioner's axe just waiting to be swung. _

_ Besides, you have to keep all your fears hidden. You and Katara both, considering how the two of you are the only ones keeping the group together. Calming an incensed Aang and exhausted Toph, keeping an eye on a hallucinating Sokka. It’s enough to drain what little energy you have left. _

_ If this is what it’s like to have kids, you want no part in it. _

_ (Well…) _

_ “I’m sorry, okay!” Aang erupts, slamming his staff against the ground with a puff of sand, “I did all I could. What is anyone else doing? What are  _ you  _ doing?” He ends his sentence by accusingly pointing his staff at Katara. The girl sighing heavily before turning to you for backup. _

_ “Aang, that’s enough,” you say firmly, hand on your hip as you reel in Sokka by the hem of his shirt, “Katara’s just trying to keep us together, arguing won’t get us anywhere. And it won’t get Appa back.” You soften your tone, “Aang, we all miss him. But if we die here, we’ll be no help to anyone. Least of all Appa.” _

_ There’s a beat of silence. Aang’s shoulders slumping with exhaustion as he lowers his staff. The sobriety of the moment ruined as Sokka claps his hands together like an amused toddler. _

_ “Wonderful speech, Madam President,” he slurs, pupils blown as his cheeks flush a concerning shade of red, “you have my vote this election.” _

_ “Thanks Sokka,” you say obligingly. Grabbing his shoulder as he tries to flop over onto the ground, “well, let’s get moving.”) _

Then there was the Serpent’s Pass incident. Suki’s reappearance sullied by literally everything else that happened.

_ (You’re a meadow vole trapped between a cat’s paws. Staring up at the monstrous sea serpent as you still your trembling shoulders. Wide, papery frills framing its toothy maw and writhing tongue. Sleek scales and empty eyes that bore into you like spears of ice. You have nowhere to go. Surrounded on all sides by churning waters with land seemingly miles away. _

_ “Suki, Y/N, you guys know about giant sea monsters. Make it go away!” Sokka says panickedly, taking a step back as the serpent spirals and twists. _

_ “Just because I live near the Unagi doesn’t mean I’m an expert!” Suki snaps. Brows furrowed as her red painted eyes flash in the sunlight. _

_ With a blood curdling screech, the serpent suddenly lunges towards you. Stopped at the last moment by Aang’s dizzying blast of air. “I’ll distract it. Katara, get everyone across,” Aang directs, snapping out his glider and taking off after the beast.  _

_ Without missing a beat, the waterbender makes a pushing motion with her arms and forges a pathway of ice. Connecting your little island to the winding path in the distance. Urgently, she ushers the group across the bridge. Creating a smaller chunk of ice that she hops aboard and sails off on, chasing after the serpent. _

_ But just before you leave, you pause. Noticing how Toph seems rooted in place, feet firmly planted to the ground. _

_ “Guys c’mon! It’s just ice!” Sokka calls from the other side, hands cupped around his mouth to amplify his voice. Everyone else watching from dry land as the two of you stand frozen in place. _

_ Still waiting, you watch as Toph presses her toes to the sheet of ice. Pulling away and returning her foot safely to the ground, “actually, I’m gonna stay on my little island where I can see.” With impeccable timing, the tail of the serpent slams down on Toph’s island of rock. Forcing her to creep across the ice, “nevermind, I’m coming!” _

_ “Here, grab my arm,” you offer, bumping shoulders so that she could take it if she wished. _

_ “I don’t need a babysitter,” she huffs, grabbing hold of your forearm nonetheless. Fingers digging into your sleeve like tiny daggers as you shimmy across the ice. _

_ And you would’ve made it, too. If not for the serpent’s sudden interruption. Smashing the bridge to smithereens and sending you crashing into the water. _

_ “Help! I can’t swim!” Toph cries, barely keeping her head above water as she flails and kicks. Pushing aside surrounding ice chunks, you paddle over and hook your elbows beneath her arms. The earthbender clinging to your back like a baby koala-otter as you swim to shore. Her legs wound around your waist as you peel her off and set her on solid ground. _

_ “You mention this again, I’ll kill you,” she threatens, all of you quickly agreeing). _

And that was nowhere near as terrifying as the whole drill situation.

_ (The repetitive clang of water slicing through metal echoes in the open space of the outer shell. Aang and Katara tossing a slip of water back and forth like a frisbee, cutting deeper into the metal with every throw. Damaging the braces just enough that one good hit up top will collapse the whole drill. Honestly, you have no idea how they come up with this kind of stuff. It’s ingenious _

_ “Good work, Team Avatar,” Sokka encourages the benders. Still sticking to the campy group name, “now Aang just needs to--duck!” A blast of familiar blue flame grazes his side. The three Fire Nation girls making their presence known on the opposite beam. _

_ “Wow, Azula, you were right! It is the Avatar!” Ty Lee marvels, fawning over the princess as she fires another blast at Aang. Adoring gaze shifting to Sokka as her lips upturn in a delicious smirk, “and friends.” _

_ But this is no time to flirt. The four of you running for your life as the girls make chase. Aang separating from the group as he moves to complete the final step of the plan. The rest of you sprinting down the opposite hall with Mai and Ty Lee hot on your heels. Opening up the slurry pipeline and diving into the sludge just before the two can catch up. _

_ And with rock water in your mouth and ruining your clothes, you wish you’d stayed outside with Toph). _

And all of this, all of this life threatening bullshit, was for naught. The city of Ba Sing Se nothing like the utopia it claimed to be. The King a puppet and the citizens in despair, walls inside and out to keep the people divided. Long Feng keeping the war a secret like gold locked away in a vault. You can’t even find Appa. The city so vast and complex that you don’t even know where to start.

So you while away the time. Lounging about your sprawling house in the stuffy, oppressive upper ring. Spa days with the girls and poetry night with Sokka the only things breaking up the monotony. Toph was right, it’s easy to get sick of the city. Especially when the city seems so sick of you.

You’re not blind. You know the Dai Li is following you. Trailing your every move and scouting your house day in and day out. You’d do the same if you were Long Feng, but that doesn’t make it any less annoying.

So no one can blame you for sneaking into the lower ring.

You miss being with actual people. People who don’t hide behind fancy clothes and fake smiles. All you want is some semblance of normalcy in this crazy place. A taste of home after months of travelling.

And after what feels like hours of aimless wandering, you find what you’re looking for. A hole in the wall tea shop with patrons streaming in and out of the door. Expressions practically glowing as they rave about what they found inside.

So, expectations high, you step in the door. Transfixed by the homeliness of the tiny shop as you file into line. Wooden tables lined up along the walls, shoved close together with knobbly legs and stained wood. Dark, overlapping rings twisting over the grain. Paintings hang from the walls as sweet smelling steam perfumes the air. A sharp bite of mint and the floral pungency of jasmine, peach and flowers and honey that lingers after every inhale.

Distracted as you are, you’re completely unprepared for when you finally get to the front of the line. Turning to the person working the counter and regretting every decision that brought you to this point.

“Are you going to order, or--” Zuko looks up with a glare, frozen in shock as he realizes who he’s talking to. A stained apron hangs loosely on his frame, the cuffs of his sleeves wet with spilt tea. A look on him that you’d never expected to see.

He looks...like a normal person.

“I just remembered that I don’t like tea,” you say quickly, stepping away and accidentally backing into the person behind you, “gotta go, sorry!” You turn on your heel and rush out the door. Sprinting down the street and pushing people out of the way as you plan to do...what, exactly? Tell your friends, the police?

Well, whatever it is, you don’t get to find out. A shriek falling from your lips as a hand grabs your arm and tugs you into a nearby alleyway. Zuko spinning you around and slamming your back against the wall.

“What are you doing here?” he growls. The exchange making you feel a discomfiting sense of deja vu.

“I could say the same to you,” you retort, “spirits, I just wanted some tea.”

He glowers, digging his fingers into your arm as his face hovers inches from yours. “If you’re here, your friends can’t be far behind. Where is the Avatar?”

You open your mouth to say something scathing. Something around the lines of  _ like I’d tell you  _ or  _ up yours.  _ But a small, conniving voice whispers in the back of your brain. A quiet murmur that takes root in your heart and spreads like rot. Mushrooms pushing up your throat until a lie tumbles out like a poisoned toadstool.

“He’s not here.”

Zuko scowls. Grip turning bruising as he doubts your words.

“No, seriously! He’s not here, none of them are,” you stammer, praying your word vomit will save you, “we separated. I couldn’t handle the running anymore. They dropped me off and now I live here.”

You hold your breath, releasing it on a slow exhale as he loosens his grip. Stepping back as he realizes just how close the two of you are. Shakily, he runs a hand through his hair. Glancing over his shoulder to the tea shop in the distance.

“My Uncle and I are hiding in the city,” he says, seeming to have bought your story, “if you tell anyone we’re here…” The wanted poster flashes through your mind.  _ Kill them without hesitation. Kill them without hesitation. Kill them-- _

“I won’t,” you whisper. His gaze cutting to you as his eyes soften in surprise, “a fresh start, I get it.” And you do. Weeks of built up anger dissipating as you watch his shoulders slump in relief.

“Thanks,” he says gratefully, an awkward silence stretching between you as you rub your bruising shoulder, “I’ll just…” He jabs his thumb towards the shop, turning away as his apron flutters in the passing breeze.

“Yeah,” you nod, guilt weighing on your chest like a corset with the strings drawn taut. You had to lie, you had no choice.

Right?

* * * *

You’re an idiot.

You should’ve let it be. Retreated to the safety of the upper ring and let yourself waste away in your cookie cutter life. Allowing the memory of the Fire Nation prince to fade like words on decaying paper.

But you didn’t. And now you’re back, loitering outside the door of Pao Family Tea House like a stray waiting for scraps. Trying to gather the courage to walk through the door.

Squaring your shoulders with confidence you don’t have, you boldly step over the threshold. The shop empty save for the workers and one girl leaning over the counter. She and Zuko seem engrossed in conversation, the latter looking uncomfortable as she rests her elbows on the countertop and shifts closer. Resting her chin in her hand as she blinks up at the teen.

Their conversation pauses as Zuko fidgets awkwardly with the edge of his apron, gaze drifting and eyes widening as they land on you.

“Y/N?”

The girl turns, a sheepish smile on her face as she calls out to you, “oh, you must be the girlfriend!”

_ What. _

“What,” you deadpan, looking to Zuko for any sort of explanation. His expression is hard to read. Mouth open in an ‘o’ as his eyes flit from you to the girl and back again.

“I’ve been meaning to apologize,” the girl continues, unaware of the whole ‘not his girlfriend’ dilemma, “when I asked Lee out last week, I didn’t know he was taken. I’m really, really sorry.” She ducks into a quick bow, popping up as you confusedly mouth ‘Lee?’ “I’m Jin, I hope we can be friends!”

You nod dumbly. The girl fixing you with another smile as she retreats to the table in the corner. Certain that she can’t hear you, you whirl around and dart behind the counter. Glaring daggers as you grab Zuko’s sleeve and tug harshly.

“ _ Girlfriend!?” _ you hiss between your teeth.

“I had to!” he whispers defensively, ripping his arm out of your grasp, “people kept asking me out every day! I didn’t know what else to do!”

You snort, the idea of Zuko having an entourage of besotted suitors making you laugh (though it isn’t that hard to believe). “So, what, you made up a fake girlfriend and used my name? Really?” His face flushes a blotchy pink. Ducking his gaze as he awkwardly rubs the back of his neck, mumbling something under his breath, “what did you say?”

“I...uh...told them what you looked like?” he says nervously, tone growing sharp as he notices the look on your face, “they didn’t believe me, I had to say something!” His face flushes darker, “it’s not like I know that many girls!”

You let out a bark of hysterical laughter, throwing your head back as you clutch at your stomach. Wiping a tear from your eye as you quell your giggles, “I can’t...oh my spirits…” you cup a hand over your mouth as Zuko scowls, “okay, okay, I’m sorry. But can’t you just say we broke up? We can fake it right now. I know how to cry on command.”

“No, we’re not breaking up!” he says a bit too loudly, quieting his voice as Jin eagerly looks in your direction, “if we do, Uncle’s going to make me date the next girl that asks me out. I don’t want that,” he lowers his voice as if sharing a secret, “it’s embarrassing.”

You blink, “so you want me to fake being your girlfriend...because your Uncle’s gonna embarrass you.”

“Yes! No! It’s complicated,” he grinds his teeth, crossing his arms as he looks away, “whatever, forget I--”

“Alright.”

“--said anything,” he pauses, turning back to you with an adorably shocked expression, “wait, really?”

“Sure,” you shrug, the full weight of what you just agreed to having yet to sink in. Old wounds threatening to burst open with a snap of shoddy stitching. You’re so hopelessly weak for this boy. And soon enough, you’re going to regret it, “what could it hurt?”

He stares at you in disbelief. Words failing him as you wrap an arm around his waist and tug him close. Planting a quick kiss on his cheek as you splay your fingers over his hip.

“What’s wrong, smoochums?”

“Don’t call me that.”

Yeah, this’ll be fun.

(And unbelievably, incomprehensibly painful).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm really sorry if it seems like I'm skipping a lot of stuff. But I don't want this story to be any longer than it needs to be. But with that being said, thanks for sticking around this long!
> 
> Please let me know what you think


	14. Fourteen

Surprisingly, the world doesn’t end. Ba Sing Se doesn’t collapse, the Fire Lord doesn’t win, and Katara doesn’t find out about you and Zuko (which, arguably, would be leagues worse than the latter).

Technically, no one finds out. Which is a miracle in itself, considering how you’re all living under the same roof. Washing up together every morning before traipsing off on your own mini adventures. Which, you suppose, is the only reason you haven’t been found out. You’ve all been directionless after Long Feng’s ultimatum. The five of you wandering the city for any lingering sense of purpose. It makes sense that you, being the oldest, would be left to your own devices. The younger ones keeping together and sticking to the safer confines of the upper ring. With Katara chaperoning the group despite your offers to help.

Though it seems that you’re the one most in need of a chaperone. Considering how you--once a-fucking-gain--are fraternizing with the  _ enemy.  _ Spirits save you from your stupid,  _ stupid  _ decision making skills and your stupid,  _ stupid  _ penchant for caring about the Fire Nation Prince.

And yeah, you guess you  _ do  _ care for him; in a rather roundabout way. A diamond caked beneath layers of coal finally peeking out from the black. But he’s Fire Nation, and you’re anything but. And there’s nothing to convince you that he’s content to just settle down and give up on ever returning home. It’s why you’d lied to him in the first place.

But you still keep to your word. Popping in and holding Zuko’s hand or kissing his forehead whenever someone looks at him all heart-eyed. You can lie to yourself and say you’re going along with it for practical reasons. That it’s just to keep an eye on him, or to catch up with Iroh (truthfully, that is actually one of the reasons. He makes damn good tea, and is surprisingly hilarious when he wants to be). But you know that’s not it.

Because deep, deep down there’s a selfish part of you that loves it. Loves to be cared for even if it’s all a lie. To give affection even when none is given in return. Really, you’re not sure why Zuko even asked for this. He’s unreadable most of the time. Blushing whenever you make a move only to scurry away at the very next moment. People are beginning to catch on to the oddness of your ‘relationship.’ And soon enough, your plan is going to fall to shambles.

And so it's time. Time for the thing you’ve been dreading since the very beginning of this arrangement.

Date night.

And spirits, do you feel like shit about it.

First off, your friends had managed to wheedle the information out of you. Collectively going insane as you reveal that the reason you’re so dressed up is because you’re out on a date. Guilt crawling up your throat like creeping vines as Katara does your makeup and Toph huffs, acting put off but interjecting with threats to your date if he were to hurt you. Aang cheering for you and shoving ‘date gifts’ into your arms as he and Katara exchange blushing glances. Sokka both giving advice and acting like a protective older brother. Frowning slightly as he tells you not to stay out too late while simultaneously advising you to stargaze. It was sweet, and made you feel like the worst person in the world. Second only to the Fire Lord and just barely beating Azula.

And as if you weren’t feeling shitty enough, Zuko is late.

You feel like an idiot. Standing outside Pao’s Family Tea shop dressed to the nines and brutally impatient. Arms crossed round your middle as eyes stare and delve past your disguise. Knowing that you’re a liar. A traitor. A horrible, awful person who doesn’t deserve shit--

A creak of the door hinges, and Zuko steps outside. Interrupting your spiralling thoughts as the flushed rays of the dying sun glances over his cheek. His fingers distractedly toy with the hair at the nape of his neck. Slicked back and glistening with an atrocious heaping of styling oil. 

_ Oh. _

“Hey,” you nod, breaking the silence with an easy grin, “funny seeing you here.” Endearingly awkward, he turns to you and pauses. Brushing his hands over his tunic to smooth out nonexistent wrinkles before clearing his throat.

“Hey,” he parrots, voice cracking as he hurriedly clears his throat again, “uh...sorry I’m late. Uncle wouldn’t let me leave until he finished my hair.”

You chuckle at that, carefully reaching forward and combing your fingers through the stiff strands. Ruffling it slightly before withdrawing your hand with a satisfied smile. He blinks, expression dazed as he absently runs his hand through his choppy hair. 

“There, much better,” you hum, “very handsome.”

He flushes a patchy pink. Fiddling neurotically with his bangs before acquiescing with a huff, “it took Uncle ten minutes to do my hair.”

You roll your eyes fondly, linking arms and guiding him down the street before he can think to object. “I know a place, and since I’m guessing you didn’t plan anything…” his refusal to meet your eye is answer enough, “we’ll eat there.”

And, shockingly, he goes along with it. The two of you walking arm and arm down the bustling streets of Ba Sing Se like a normal couple. The streetlamps glowing softly as the sky darkens to a royal purple. Deep and rich with a warm breeze that smells like cooking food and smoke. It feels almost...normal. And despite your love for adventure, you’ve missed the stability and comfort of a place like this. A place you can almost pretend is home.

“Here we are,” you lead Zuko up to the front of the restaurant. Letting go off his arm and almost immediately missing his warmth, “follow me.” 

Pushing through the crowd, you make your way inside. Spices and herbs perfuming the air as steam hangs in a fragrant fog. The place is packed, the discordant sounds of the kitchen almost grounding in the hustle and bustle of the dining floor. Every table filled as you duck and weave between patrons, Zuko trailing just behind you.

“There’s nowhere to sit, where are you--oh,” he stops dead in his tracks, struck dumb as you pull back a curtain to reveal a modest patio. Dripping candles dotted along a railing that perfectly overlooks the sunset. A smile on your lips, you step past the threshold and stifle a laugh as the curtain falls flat against his face. Sitting down at the table in the corner and beckoning for him to join you.

“So, what do you think?” you ask almost nervously. Zuko taking the seat next to you with a boyish air of wonderment that makes something warm light in your chest.

“It’s...nice,” he answers lamely, wincing at his poor choice of words. Silence pressing in from all angles as you twiddle your thumbs and pray for the waiter to swoop in and save you from the awkwardness. And, as if summoned, the waiter ducks through the curtains and steps up to the edge of the table. The two of you making your orders (Zuko lagging behind and ordering identically to you) before being left again to the torturous silence.

Spirits, fake dating is  _ hard.  _ How much is too much? At what point do you cross an unspoken boundary? What do you even  _ say? _

“So...what’s your favourite color?”

_ Well, that was lame. Good job, Y/N. _

He blinks. Lips parted as he eloquently responds, “why?”

“Well, I’ve never done anything like this before…” you admit, nervously drumming your fingers against the tabletop, “but if we’re going to be dating, we should at least get to know each other...right?”

He turns his head, “this isn’t…”

“I know.”  _ I know this isn’t real _ , “but we need to make people  _ think _ it is.” The words taste bitter on your tongue. A reminder that no matter how you play this, it’s all just a game. That really, you should be fighting right now. Should yell and scream and beg for an explanation.  _ Why won’t you listen why won’t you see why won’t you give up why do you hurt me why do you hurt yourself. _

Silence again. And just as you resign yourself to the quiet, he speaks.

“Green,” he says quietly, lips barely moving, “it’s green.”

“That’s...uh...a nice color,” you smile softly, caught off guard by the fact he’d answered at all, “why green? I would’ve thought red or something…”

He clenches his jaw and stares down at the table, voice snippish and hoarse, “it doesn’t matter.”

“Okay…” you murmur, petering off into silence as you drag your fingertips over the tabletop. Tracing over the dark whorls and spirals embedded in the wood, “favourite animal?”

A beat passes, and then he softens. Eyes far away as he reminisces with a foreign gentleness to his tone, “turtleducks. When I was younger, my mom and I used to feed them in the palace gardens.”

“That’s adorable,” you say, a smile in your voice as you prop your chin up with your hand.

“They never seemed to like me, though,” he says seriously. And it takes you a minute to realize he’s joking.

_ Actually joking. _

A startled laugh bursts from your chest. Followed by a wheezing fit of snickers that you stifle in the palm of your hand. Shoulders shaking as you watch his expression shift from shocked to almost fond.

“I’m sorry, I--” you try to compose yourself and accidentally choke on your next breath, “what did you  _ do  _ to the turtleducks!?

“Throw a loaf of bread at them,” he answers. Voice so humorlessly deadpan that it comes off as hilarious.

“ _ Throw a loaf-- _ ” you choke out. Any hope of calming down forgotten as the image of a younger Zuko chucking bread at a paddling of turtleducks invades your thoughts, “oh spirits that’s  _ awful. _ ”

He looks away ashamedly, “yeah...it was.”

Spirits, now you feel bad. “Hey,” you tilt your head and catch his eye, “you know better now. And you probably gave them a lot of bread as an apology, yeah?”

“Yeah…” he answers quietly, meeting your eye and giving you a small smile.

And with that, the tension breaks. Conversation a lot easier as you let yourself get swept up in the moment. Pushing doubts aside as you take the lead and try to coax Zuko out of his shell. A task made nigh impossible as he opens up only to slam the gates back down. But you persevere, steering away from subjects he’s discomfited by and letting him set the pace. And soon enough, your efforts bear fruit. Wizened, unripe fruit. But fruit nonetheless.

And before you know it, dinner arrives and is quickly finished. The sun dipping below the horizon and drawing a curtain of darkness over the sky. Purple fading to black as stars speckle the canvas of the night. And you’re almost...disappointed. Disappointed that this (whatever  _ this  _ is) is almost over.

And maybe you’re just kidding yourself, but it seems Zuko feels the same. Hands folded on the table as he nervously picks at his cuticles. Rising to his feet before stiltedly holding his hand out to yours. Palms sweaty as he ducks his head and meets your gaze with a strangely hopeful look in his eye.

“If you...if you want, I could show you a place you might like,” he offers, shuffling his feet as his voice grows meeker, “if you’re interested I didn’t mean…”

A smile on your lips, you take his proffered hand, “I’d love to.”

A ghost of a grin crosses his face. Gone in a blink as his fingers tighten around yours, pulling you along as he leads you back out onto the street. Walking hand in hand as the golden glow of the lamplight casts over the cobblestone like spilt honey. His hand is warm in yours. Callused and rough with a softness that comes from days of easy work. Interlocking with yours so perfectly it’s as if they’re made for each other.

“So, where’s this oh so special place?” you wonder, happy to be dragged along if it means Zuko gets to take the lead.

“Uh...it’s a surprise,” he answers, “Uncle wouldn’t stop talking about it, so I thought I’d show you.”

Warmth blooms in your chest like a flower turning to the sun. The two of you turning the corner as a gasp spills from your lips. Awed by the sight laid out before you.

Water flows in a delicate, tinkling babble. Spilling over in a shimmering sheet as the fountain froths and churns. Multiple tiers stacked atop each other as paper lanterns dot the sides. Floating atop the dark water as surrounding street lamps reflect off the surface. The night sky mirrored in the glassy ripples.

“Oh wow,” you marvel. Hand regrettably slipping out of his as you step up to the edge of the fountain. Watching your reflection ripple before staring up at the stars, “oh  _ wow.” _

It’s white paint freckled over a canvas of the deepest black. Jewels scattered across velvet and shimmering thread woven through a cloak of raven luster. Bright and piercing as the moon sits heavy in the sky. Wisps of clouds dispersed in the wind as the candlelight flickers and winks.

Entranced, you jump up onto the fountain's edge. Spinning on your heel as you trace along the stone rim. Skipping over the lanterns with a delicate hop as you stare up at the constellations.

“What are you doing?” Zuko hisses, following after you from the safety of solid ground, “you’re going to fall.”

“That’s what you think,” you say with a wink. Looking down at him and breaking step as your breath is stolen from your lungs. The candlelight casting over his face so  _ prettily  _ as the stars reflect in his eyes. Lips pressed tight as he dogs after you with almost exasperated fondness. The harsh edges of his scar made soft, the curve of his jaw highlighted by a perfectly casted shadow. More captivating than a thousand night skies and then some.

And like a prophecy come to life, your foot catches on the stone and you fall. Arms flailing as you try to catch yourself and find nothing there. Breaking the surface of the water with a devastating splash that soaks you to the bone. Snuffing out the candles in one fell swoop. 

“Are you hurt?” Zuko says concernedly, the urge to say  _ I told you so  _ written across his entire face even as he frets. Owlishly, you blink up at him and wipe the water from your eyes. Shaking with held back laughter as he furrows his brow in confusion. “Here,” he offers his hand to you once again, grasping it gratefully as he tries to heave you back to your feet.

And in what could potentially be a bout of misfortune, his foot slips on wet stone and sends him pitching forward. Falling face first into the water as you watch slack jawed and guilty. Sputtering and spitting as his hair sticks to his forehead and falls in front of his eyes.

“Spirits, are you okay?!” you gasp. Water sloshing as you sit up and hover around him, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to--don’t look at me like that. It was an accident! You think I wanted to get wetter? Don’t you dare laugh this isn’t--”

And he laughs. A genuine, rolling laugh that ends with a snort. Loud and crackly like an instrument that hasn’t been played in a long, long time. And you realize you’ve never heard him laugh.  _ Actually  _ laugh. Which is really a travesty because he looks so damn beautiful doing it.

And so you laugh away your fears. Soaked to the bone as you fold into each other with aching sides and heaving lungs. Just two kids in a snapshot of the city. Two kids carving a place for themselves in this dark, dark world.

Two kids just being...kids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut next chapter yall! Yay!


	15. Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super sorry for the long wait! Life's been super hectic.
> 
> But oh my god thank you for 11k+ views! I never could've imagine this fic getting so popular, and I'm grateful for every single one of you!
> 
> Anyways, hope you enjoy!
> 
> Content warning: smut

You don’t know when the lines begin to blur. The lines between fiction and reality melding together like paints on a canvas. Twisting and churning like galaxies colliding in a supernova of light.

It’s basic psychology. Inevitable that the closeness between you would lead to some confusion. Confusion over whether or not this...means more. Soft moments and admissions hinting towards a relationship that isn’t as fake as you’ve been led to believe. 

So here you are now, rectifying these feelings the only way you know how.

“Are you sure your Uncle is out for the night?” you hiss, pausing right in the middle of undressing. Arms crossed over your middle as you begin to tug off your shirt, “if he walks in on us, I’d die right there.”

“He won’t,” Zuko says resolutely, balling up his tunic and tossing it to the corner of the bedroom. Gripping the hem of your shirt and pulling it off for you, “he’s out doing old people stuff, we have the place to ourselves.”

“Good,” you grin, backing him up until he falls back against the bed mat. Straddling his hips as you lean forward and trail your hands down his bare chest. Heat radiating from his skin like warmth from a fire. It’s a fascinating phenomenon. The temperature kicking up a notch as you slant your lips over his. Hips moving lazily as you feel him harden inside his boxers.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” he groans, scrambling with the tie of your bra and tossing it aside. Clutching you closer with the desperation of a dying man. Hungry for skin, for touch, for  _ you. _

“Okay, okay, do…” you break off with a strangled moan. Lip caught between your teeth as he sucks bruises into your throat, “do you-- _ shit _ \--do you trust me?”

There’s a pause. Weighted and heavy in a way that makes the mood sour. Regret curdling in your stomach as you realize what you’d just asked. What you’ve just forced him to admit. 

“...Yeah,” he nods, looking up at you with a slight smile on his face, “yeah, I trust you.”

“Oh,” you breathe. Wide eyed and warm all over as your face flushes, “then let me just…” You grasp him by the hairs at his nape and tug upwards, startling at the groan that falls from his lips as you sit him upright.

He flushes an embarrassed pink. Wrenching his head out of your hands with a shameful sputter.

“Did you...did you like that?” you say lowly, voice barely more than a whisper as you lean in close.

“No! Of course not!” he objects, cut off with another groan as you curiously grab the roots of his hair and pull. Mouth agape as he averts his eyes and hunches in, “...maybe.”

You smirk. Winding the strands around your fingers as you give them another playful tug. Diving in for a kiss as his eyes roll back in his skull. Swallowing down his moan with eager lips and an exploring tongue.

And with that as a distraction, you skim your fingers down his stomach and dip beneath the waistband of his boxers. Pulling it down past his ankles as you lick a stripe up your palm. Gripping his cock by the base and pumping your fist. Catching the head on the upstroke and relishing in how he fucks up into your hand.

“Shit shit shit,” he chants, watching enrapturedly as you tug off your panties and settle into place. Guiding him inside you and groaning as you meet the cradle of his hip. Gripping his shoulders tightly as you begin to bounce on his cock.

“Spirits, that’s…” you gasp, voice catching in your throat as he flounders and manages to find your clit. Every thrust of your hips grazing his fingers over the sensitive bud. A blazing hot coil spiralling in your gut like metal buckling over flame.

It feels like you’re burning. A sacrificial pyre lit up and ablaze with billowing pleasure. Fueled by kindling that smells of jasmine tea and spices, woodsmoke and musk and  _ Zuko Zuko Zuko. _

Collapsing in on yourself as self control is whisked away by the wind. Beautiful and blazing and almost untouchable in its purity.

You feel powerful, divine. Strength rippling beneath your skin in rivers of hot, sparking pleasure. Burning in your gut with the roaring blaze of a blacksmith’s forge. Greedily, you snap your hips against Zuko’s with newfound gusto. Fingernails carving crescent moons into his skin as fire licks at your insides. Hot and panting as the lewd slap of skin on skin echoes throughout the room.

“Zuko. Darling, baby, honeymuffin, sweetheart,” you keen, burying your face in his neck as he meets your every thrust, “ _ pretty boy _ . Don’t stop.”

And he doesn’t. Thrusting up into you with a burning desperation that matches your own. Two flames meeting in a beautiful dance of spiralling conflict. Red orange and yellow, a ghostly hint of blue. Purples and greens and pinks and a thousand other colors that should and shouldn’t be. Burning you to ashes as you burst forth from the ruins like a phoenix. Eaten up from the inside like candle wax pooling beneath the wick. Hollowed out and gutted with understanding clicking into place for one single, perfect second. Whisked away in the next as if it’d never been there in the first place.

“Oh fuck oh fuck oh  _ fu-ck _ ,” you moan. Open mouthed and sloppy as you press yourself to his chest. Wicking away the heat only for it to flare up even stronger than before, “Zuko, you can’t--you gotta…” You trail off with another yowl. Chest heaving as pleasure builds and builds like pressure mounting in a bottle rocket. A distant fear breaking through the haze as you feel him twitch inside you. Grasping his hair and  _ yanking  _ as you holler, “pull out, pull out!”

And he does. The two of you moving away in unison as reasoning snaps back into place. One hand resting on his chest as you meet his hooded gaze with a matching heat. Pushing him down onto his back as you slowly settle back between his legs.

“If you like, I could...help you finish,” you croon. The suggestion behind your words masked by your stumbling awkwardness.

But it doesn’t seem to matter to him. Nodding eagerly as he props himself up on his elbows just to watch. Eyes widening as you grip his cock and draw him into the wet heat of your mouth. Tensing and relaxing all at once as you dip down further and further. Fighting not to choke as you push yourself to your very limit. Swallowing around him with a sickly slurp as you breathe out harshly through your nose.

You’re better at this now, at the very least. Able to choke him down without fear of gagging or spitting up. Nose buried in the curls at the base as your lips drag up and down his cock. Stretched taut as your tongue laves over the velvety underside. Lips twisting into a smile as he bucks up into your mouth.

And with a teasing smirk, you pull away and wrap your fingers around his dripping cock. Not even pausing a moment as you pump your fist up and down at a devastating speed. Tongue darting out to wet your lip as he throws his head back in agonized pleasure. Eyes flashing with heat as he peeks up to watch you stroke his slickened dick. It’s downright addictive. Even more so as his mouth falls open in a silent, jaw cracking scream. Making a mess of himself as he comes all over his stomach and even across your face.

“Fuck, I didn’t mean--” he apologizes, struck dumb as you wipe the mess from your cheek and pop the dirtied finger into your mouth. Intrigued by the taste as you trail your fingers through the mess on his stomach. Gathering it in your hand as you absentmindedly lick it clean. It doesn’t taste good, per say. But there’s a sharp aftertaste that you can’t help but swallow down.

All of a sudden, a soft whimper calls for your attention. Glancing up and freezing as Zuko’s piercing gaze locks you into place. Stoking the blaze in your gut like sparks to tinder. Words fail you as he sits back up and settles between your thighs in turn. Blinking up at you with glazed, blown eyes that pin you to the spot like an arrow straight through your heart.

“Can I…” he trails off awkwardly, the moment stalled as you fumble for what to do next. Tentatively threading your fingers through his hair as you guide his face to your cunt, “oh...y-yeah, I can do that.” Hooking his arms around your legs, he shifts forward and licks a stripe up your anticipating cunt. Startling a gasp from your throat as the wet drag of his tongue sets off sparks in your belly. Sensitive beyond belief, your mouth drops open and words spill out like water from a dam. Babbling incoherently as your stomach twists and drops with roiling heat.

“ _ Spirits _ , just like that. Fuck, you look so good like this,” you gasp, shivering at how his responding groan vibrates in all the right places, “you like that? Like when I call you handsome, call you my pretty boy?” Spurred on by your words, he continues eating you out with passionate fervor. Putty beneath your hands as every syllable you utter breaks him more. “Yeah, look at you. So fucking hot. And goddamn  _ strong  _ too. You’re gonna fucking  _ ruin  _ me.”

You don’t last long. Falling apart beneath his tongue with a pitiful keen as you throw your head back against the sheets. Humming happily as he crawls up your bare body and draws you into his arms. An adorable flush on his face as he rests his head on your nude chest. Pulling the sheets up to your chin and curling beneath the blankets.

“That was…” his voice is low, rough and gravelly like silk catching on brambles. Affection burning in his tone like a blazing candle, “that was nice.”

“Just nice?” You tease, stifling a laugh as his brows crease. Smoothing out the wrinkles with the pad of your thumb.

“You know what I meant,” he huffs, turning his head so he’s tucked safely in the crook of your neck. “I think…” his voice grows impossibly quiet. Muffled into your skin as his lips move against your pulse point, “I think this is the first time I’ve been really happy in...awhile.”

“Oh,” you whisper, shocked silent by his quiet confession. Combing your fingers through his hair as you press your lips to the crown of his head. An indulgence that you can’t help yourself from, “how...how long ago was that?”

He‘s quiet. Squeezing his eyes shut as he presses into your shoulder like a child hiding from the world. “...Awhile.”

You swallow tightly. The pretenses of a fake relationship crumbling all around with the immeasurable weight of his words.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You say gently, letting him hide away in your shoulder for just a second longer. Shying away from responsibilities as he curls further into your side, “you don’t have to but...I think it’d make you feel better.”

You feel his lips purse. Tensing against you as his spine draws taut. Ready to flee at the drop of a hat. Grasping at the last dregs of stoicism as his walls begin to crumble, like scraggly rocks beaten away by the incessant waves of the ocean. Your opposite hand splays over the small of his back. Tracing the boney notches of his spine in a constant, soothing, back and forth. Tensing and relaxing all at once as he lets you trail your fingers up and down his back. Breaking beneath your gentle touch like a cracking China plate.

He gives in with a defeated slump of his shoulders. Turning his head so his voice is clear and unhindered by the curve of your neck. Stilted and awkward like a puppet with tangled strings.

“The last time I was this happy was when...when my mom was still around,” it’s a quiet admission. A flash of vulnerability that you know to treasure. To keep close and nurture like a flower unfurling it’s petals to the sun, “we had a vacation house. We’d go there during the summer as a...as a normal family.” His next words are stifled, bitter, “that didn’t last very long.”

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. Because what else can you say? What comfort can you give to someone who turns from any gentle touch? He’s doing it right now, shrugging off the hand in his hair and flinching away. Frown deep set and carved into the slope of his face.

“I don’t need your pity,” he glowers. Softness gone from his frame as he flares to life beneath your fingertips. A roaring blaze that eats away at itself, smoldering into nothing, “it won’t change anything.”

“I don’t pity you,” you insist, “you deserve comfort.”

He scowls at the ceiling. Burning holes into the wood as he refuses to meet your gentle gaze. “No. No, I don’t.”

Now it’s your turn to frown.

“And why don’t you?”

“Because I should’ve been better!” He shoots up with a shout. Wrenching himself out of your grasp and sitting up, hands curling into fists as he stares down at his lap, “if I’d been stronger, been as good as Azula...then I could’ve...I could’ve...”

Hesitantly, you inch forward and rest a hand on his shoulder. Powering through the awkwardness as he stiffens beneath your touch. Neither leaning in nor pulling away as he remains fixated on the fabric.

“Could’ve what?” You breathe. His scarred side facing you as he ducks his head in shame.

“Could’ve protected my mom,” he says shakily, fingernails digging into the palm of his hand, “could’ve...could have done  _ more. _ Could have saved her.”

“Your mom isn’t really dead, is she.”

“ _ No _ ,” he says resolutely. More sure than anything else, “she can’t be. She has to be out there...somewhere.”

Slowly, you shift forward and draw him into a gentle embrace. Leaning into his side as he melts against you like a glacier thawing beneath the sun.

“You must’ve loved her— _ love  _ her a lot,” you hum. Gently rubbing your thumb back and forth on the cut of his shoulder blade. Wishing you could do more, wishing you could say the right things. Wishing you could cradle him close and protect him from all the hardships in the world. An incredibly non-platonic instinct that you elect to ignore.

“Of course I do, she’s my  _ mom, _ ” he huffs, swiping at his nose as he hunches in on himself, “she was the only one who ever really listened to me. And then…then she was gone. I didn’t even get to say goodbye. She just...disappeared in the night. Something happened to her, something I should’ve been there to stop—!”

“She wouldn’t want you to blame yourself,” you comfort, tilting your head in an effort to catch his eye.

“You don’t know anything,” he scowls. One last attempt to shove you away before exhaustedly giving in.

“Maybe not,” you admit, “but I know she must’ve loved you. And...and there’s no way she’d want you to feel guilty.”

He crumbles into you like a tower of collapsing cards. Not exactly crying, but his breath hitching and shoulders shaking with the ghost of a sob. Something fiercely protective curling in your chest as you hold him tight and listen to the story. Of him being awoken in the night only to slip back to sleep in the next moment. His cousin’s death, his mother’s disappearance, and his grandfather’s suspicious passing. All culminating in his father, Ozai, rising to the throne.

You may be unsure about a lot of things. About yourself, your morals, your relationship with Zuko. But if there’s one thing you know…

You’re gonna beat the absolute  _ shit  _ out of the Firelord one day.


End file.
